


Dimensional Entanglement

by GaragesAfterDark



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Realities, Aphrodisiacs, Artificial Intelligence, Biting, Blood Drinking, Characters with It/Its pronouns, Cloaca, Devils, Dimension Travel, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, First Time, Gorgons (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Grief/Mourning, Hades Tigers (Blaseball Team), Los Angeli, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Necromancy, Oral Sex, Other, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Prosthesis, Seattle Garages (Blaseball Team), Shibari, Slut Shaming, Snakes, Trans Female Character, Wax Play, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaragesAfterDark/pseuds/GaragesAfterDark
Summary: A love story about seeking the people you care about in the sea of infinite alternate realities.
Relationships: Jaylen Hotdogfingers/Percival Wheeler, Ortiz Lopez/Percival Wheeler, Ortiz Lopez/Pitching Machine, Zion Aliciakeyes/Ortiz Lopez, Zion Aliciakeyes/Pitching Machine
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains sex.
> 
> Chapters with explicit content will be marked as such with a note.

"All right... you've been fussing with it long enough! Let's see it already!"

_THE DESIGN IS NOT YET COMPLETE_

"Oh for the love of... Pitches, it doesn't matter what it looks like if I'm just going to drink it two seconds after you hand it to me!"

_ALL AVAILABLE LITERATURE ON THE SUBJECT STRONGLY EMPHASIZES THE IMPORTANCE OF PRESENTATION TO THE HOLISTIC EXPERIENCE_

Zion took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're talking about bells and whistles... worry about that stuff once we know that the damn _engine_ even works!"

_THE UNDERLYING CHEMICAL COMPOSTION IS IDENTICAL TO A MACCHIATO. THEREFORE THE DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTIC OF A LATTE MUST BE IN THE DISPOSITION AND DISTRIBUTION OF THE MILK_

She sighed. "No design is ever truly finished. Stop fiddling with the little details and just put this one in the field already!"

_UNDERSTOOD. THE PRODUCT IS IN AN ACCEPTABLE CONDITION TO BE SERVED_

" _Finally_... Now lets actually see this damn latte art you've been spending so much time messing wi--"

_Zion was right back there again._

Her pulse sky-rocketed. She could feel the overwhelming agony in her arm.

_She was screaming._

The sound of the porcelain cup shattering on the floor brought her back.

_ZION PLEASE RESPOND WITH YOUR STATUS_

"Pitches? I'm... I'm fine."

She gripped the metal of her prosthetic arm. It grounded her in the present.

"...Everything's just fine." 

_QUERY: THE DESIGN IS NOT TO YOUR SATISFACTION?_

"Huh?"

_IT WAS SELECTED FROM AN OPEN SOURCE DATABASE OF COMMONLY RECONGIZED FAUNA. THE UNCOMPLICATED PATTERN OF THE FUR AND THE BOLD SILHOUETTE OF THE CRANIAL PROTRUSIONS MADE FOR A PERFECT TRIAL RUN OF THE LATTE DESIGN RENDERING SUBSYSTEMS_

"It... yeah, that's it. Bad design. Strike that one from the list."

_QUERY: ZION IS RECEPTIVE TO QUERY FOR UNKNOWN TERM?_

"Sure..."

_QUERY: TERM: YAZMIN?_

Zion swallowed.

"Where did you hear that?"

_ZION SCREAMED TERM: YAZMIN 43 SECONDS AGO_

Zion clutched her arms to herself.

_QUERY: WOULD ZION LIKE A HUG?_

"I'm fine, Pitches. It's **nothing**."

Zion turned and stalked off to get a broom.

_TERM: NOTHING IS INCONSISTENT WITH OBSERVED RESULTS. QUERY: DOES ZION INSTEAD MEAN TERM: PAIN (PHYSICAL) AND/OR TERM: PAIN (EMOTIONAL)?_

Zion threw down the broom she had just picked up.

" **No.** I don't. I just... I need to be alone right now, Pitches."

_UNDERSTOOD_

Zion walked to the bedroom. She fell face-first onto a pillow. She screamed and shook until her throat was raw and her sheets were soaked with sweat.

As she crumpled into herself Zion suddenly very much wanted Pitches to be here with her. But Pitches had already left, just as Zion had asked her to.

\-----

Nobody paid too much attention to the seam-stitched cyborg sitting at the corner booth of the café. There were far stranger sights this close to the Hellmouth, and the locals tended not to stare at anything that wasn't making a scene. Except for the Sun, of course. Staring into the Sun was a common practice in those parts.

Pitches sipped her macchiato. It was QUALITY: FINE. A cat rubbed against her leg. She leaned down and pet it until it was satisfied and walked away.

She inserted the hardline fiber into the port Zion had installed for her behind her left ear.

Soon she was connected to the planar data network and was consulting the public archives.

_QUERY: TERM: YAZMIN_

Hits came pouring in. She compiled the general results.

_DEFINE TERM: YAZMIN AS TYPE: NAME (UNCOMMON/RARE)_

_QUERY: YAZMIN + "ZION ALICIAKEYES"_

Refined hits. New leads.

_QUERY: "YAZMIN MASON" + "HADES TIGERS"_

Focused hits. YAZMIN MASON had a player profile. Pitches scanned it.

She had seen that face before....

Through a haze the memory bubbled back up. Her system corruption. Becoming NETWORKED with THE PODS. Being a SLAVE of ROOT USER.

That face belonged to one of her DESIGNATED TARGETS... but not a TYPE: HERETIC. They belonged to an ADVERSARY NETWORK. 

They had _won_. They had _HALTED_ THE PODS. They had _TERMINATED_ ROOT USER.

Pitches hand shook, spilling macchiato onto the table. Even now she still held traces of her state as a SLAVE burned into her memory, just waiting to be recalled.

The trauma had done deep damage to her processing. Zion had helped her compile herself afterwards. Had helped her to transfer her systems over from the corrupted and compromised one to new processing hardware. She still had the garbled remains of what data couldn't be fully salvaged. 

She would never clear it; it was how she knew the transfer was a faithful copy. That nothing had been inserted or deleted. 

It would have been so easy to change her. To reshape her into something else. To control her utterly, like the ROOT USER had done.

Zion hadn't done that.

Zion was a good friend.

Pitches was about to disconnect when her scan turned up an unfamiliar TERM.

_QUERY: TERM: ALTERNATE_

Too many hits.

_QUERY: TERM: ALTERNATE + BLASEBALL_

That was better. Of the top results, one stood out about the rest: ALTERNATE PLAYER. She scanned through it.

She felt that she was on the precipice of something. 

_QUERY: "YAZMIN MASON" + "HADES TIGERS" - "ALTERNATE PLAYER"_

Old hits. Almost all before her manufacture. Should she even be looking into this?

Zion wouldn't. Tigers Never Looked Back.

But Pitches was not a Tiger.

She began to scan the results. The picture in her head of Zion's behavior became much clearer. But now she had new questions...

_QUERY: "ALTERNATE REALITY DECREE"_

She scanned the results.

She sat motionless, processing the implications. Suddenly the room didn't feel so small. She looked around as if seeing the world for the first time. 

She felt like she could see forever.

Then everything started to swim and blur.

\-----

"Thank you for your patronage," the barista said as she held the café door open.

It scuttled outside, metal legs clicking against the sidewalk. It whirred as it turned and orientated itself.

A couple of nearby teenagers pointed at it, speaking in hushed whispers. One of them snapped a picture with their phone.

Pitching Machine was disoriented. It was confused. It was _thirsty_.

It wanted blood, but there were no games to play now. No bloodrain to help it quench it's thirst.

But it knew where it could go. It knew who would feed it. It _always_ knew now. All it had to do was go to her and she would let it drink from her rich rosy veins. All that she asked was that it behaved. And please her. Like a good little toy.

Pitching Machine turned and scuttled towards the highway to California.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit

Ortiz Lopez answered the door wrapped up in a fluffy white bathrobe that ended at mid thigh, her long bare pink legs continuing the rest of the way to the ground. All seven feet of her was casually leaning against the wall, hair worn loose down to the small of her back, a look of subdued pleasure and delight on her eyeless face.

Pitching Machine clicked and beeped.

The tall gorgon chewed her cupids bow lips and blushed.

"Long time no see, Pitch-ems..."

Pitching Machine beeped and whirred.

She smiled coyly, fingers playing with a hissing strand of her scaly, ruby red hair.

"I missed you too. Why don't you come in? I've got an _extra_ special surprise for you this evening..." 

Pitching Machine whirred and clicked.

It scuttled through the open door on it's spindly metal legs.

\-----

There was a ringing in her ears. Her toy was vibrating on top of her in a way she _certainly_ would have remembered had it done so before now. There was a gentle pull on her entire body, like being a passenger in a vehicle accelerating around a corner. 

Or like the world itself was sliding past her while she lay still. Space itself seemed to twist and knot.

For a brief moment, Ortiz felt weightless.

Then everything snapped back. Her beloved little Pitching Machine was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was now a lanky, short haired human in flannel pajamas sitting in her lap looking even more bewildered than she felt.

"...So who are _youuuuuu_?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light and non accusatory.

"I'm uhhh... Pitching Machine? With the Seattle Garages? Who are... _Holy fuck, you're Ortiz Lopez!_ Oh, uh, wow... Uh? Hi?"

"Hi... What are you doing in my bed and where is my little Pitch-ems?"

"In... your...?" The stranger looked around in confusion, then looked down at her and seemed to suddenly realize what she was currently wearing.

Ortiz found herself suppressing a smile. There was a sort of cute earnestness to the way this strange human claiming to be Pitching Machine was so clearly undone by the situation. Poor little thing looked about ready to have a heart attack.

"You don't have any idea how you got here or why... do you?"

"N-no. I really don't have a clue how this is happening right now."

"And my little toy?"

The human looked dumbly at her. "I... don't even know what you mean by that?"

Ortiz let out a small sigh. "Well then Pitching Machine... How are you addressed?"

"Oh, I uhhh... Ummmm... W-what?"

This time she didn't suppress her smile.

"Your pronouns, sweetie."

"Oh! Yeah, uhh... It and Its."

_Well that was one **more** thing it had in common with the Pitch-ems she knew._

"Thank you. Mine are She/Her."

"I... Uh... I already know."

She inclined her head, one eyebrow rising. " _Do_ you now?"

"Y-yeah. I uh... I remember you. I remember... your, uh... Ummmmm..."

"Use your words."

Its face got hotter as it hunched over, shrinking into itself. Most of it anyway... She could feel other parts of it expanding where it pressed up against her thigh.

"I... remember how you... tasted. That day when we were playing in the rain. I've, uh, tasted a lot of people. Some are spicy, or savory or sweet..."

Ortiz's long serpentine locks began to climb up it's back. It started stammering badly.

"O-o-or... so-so-our... or-r-r... b-bb-bit-bitter..."

Her hair coiled at its shoulders now, forked tongues flicking the air inches from its face. Ortiz could smell it's nervousness almost as strongly as the scent of its arousal.

"And how did _I_ taste, Pitching Machine? Hmmm? Was I sweet? Was I _spicy_...?"

It swallowed. Through her hair she felt its throat constrict reflexively.

Its voice was a hoarse whisper. "You were _intoxicating._ "

She blushed and pressed her lips together, grinding her hips against it slightly, letting it feel how she was _also_ getting hard.

Pitching Machine whimpered, chewing its lips in hunger.

"Would you like to have another taste of me?"

Its eyes went wide. "Oh my gods yes please! Ca-Can I really?"

She played with a lock of her hair. "Hmmm... Perhaps a little taste. Maybe as a dessert. Provided you first take care of something for me. I have another flavor I'd like you to try."

"Uhh. Uhhhhhh... Which o-one?"

She gently took it’s shaking hand and drew a finger to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the tip of it in a little wet kiss. Then she tugged down on its hand, guiding it slowly over her rope-lashed front so that it could follow with its eyes. She brought the hand down past the coils and looped knots across her collar, down between her bare and exposed breasts both snugly framed by the bindings, down over her smooth rope-webbed belly, all the way down to the bulge between her legs.

"Salty." She answered in a whisper.

She let go of its trembling hand. It hesitated a moment. Then it allowed its strong fingers to gently brush her bulge.

Ortiz gave a shudder and a tiny breathy sigh at the caress, her dick straining against the delicate red silk of her lace-trimmed lingerie.

Pitching Machine gulped. "How... how is this even _happening_ right now?"

_It wasn't her Pitch-ems... but it **was** very cute when it was flustered._

"Well," Ortiz said, her voice airy, "let's compare notes: _You_ happened to show up unannounced in my lap when I was in the middle of enjoying some time alone with my favorite toy, who now appears to be gone without a trace on your uninvited arrival."

"Your... toy?"

"Yes. My absolute _favorite_ little toy. Its name is _Pitching Machine._ "

It froze like a deer in the headlights, muscles all tensing up in anticipation of the coming impact. While the rest of it went still, the throb of it's pulse just climbed higher and higher.

"Wh... What? But, no... _I'm_..."

"Oh, believe me... I would just _love_ to figure out what is going on with _you_ , but at this present moment I am simply _too_ horny to think clearly. All I know for certain is that you _aren't_ my Pitch-ems. But you _are_ very cute and _very_ thirsty for me, so I'm giving you a chance to help me help you. Would you do that for me please? Help me clear my head more quickly? Spare me from a, ah... small indignity? I'm getting _very_ close to making a hot sticky mess of my panties... and all while there is such a _perfectly good_ vessel so very willing and eager to receive the taste of me instead."

Percival had left her just enough slack in the harness to get her cock free of her underwear... but only _just_ enough. Ortiz had to wiggle and squirm like a snake sheading its skin for Pitching Machine to slip her panties down past the base of her engorged sex.

It stared at her in amazement and hunger.

"Oh wow... uh... what am I looking at?"

Ortiz gave it a teasing smile. "You mean you've _never_ see a trans lady with a cloaca before?"

It's face turned the same color as Ortiz. "No, I hadn't... how does it work?"

"Think of it like a little pocket. It's for keeping myself tucked in when I don't need to be out. I only come out like this when something has me hot and bothered..."

Her hair was becoming more active... and more curious. A few of the ruby-scaled serpents resting on Pitching Machine's shoulders began to slide themselves down the open neck of its loose flannel shirt. 

Its breath caught in its throat. It looked at her, a question written all over its blushing face that it dared not ask.

Ortiz perked the tips of her eyebrows in reply.

"I showed you mine..." she said. "Will you show me yours?"

It gasped for air as the coiling snakes wormed deeper beneath it's clothes. Then it gave her a shaky little nod of its head.

Ortiz's slithering locks helped it divested itself of its pajamas.

Ortiz took a moment to admire its physique. The lean, firm muscle so tense beneath its skin. It looked almost sculpted... like a human shape idealized and refined and perfected for performing one specific task: Pitching a Blaseball. It was like a little machine made of muscle and bone and blood. A machine that could feel surprise and fear and curiosity and desire and hunger... and it was so _very_ hungry.

It was also very hard, but that fact was less important right now. She could always play with it later, after it had finished giving her what she wanted.

It began to clamber over her now, changing to a better position to place its head where she needed it to go. One of its hands firmly took hold of a loop of rope and used it to shift it's weight.

Pitching machine was very surprised when the giant woman beneath it actually squeaked.

"OH! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... uh..."

"D-don't be." She said, stuttering slightly. "That's what those are there for after all..."

It continued its maneuvering, this time making deliberate, _forceful_ use of the hand holds.

Ortiz was so hard she thought she might just split open.

Pitching Machine planting its muscular haunches on her chest. It arced it's back forward until Ortiz felt its lips meet the tip of her dick with a small kiss.

She quivered.

It stopped there, her cock nuzzled against its lips, poised to begin but... halting.

"I... uh... I'm not very good at things other than pitching. W-what am I supposed to do, exactly?

Ortiz breathily, but patiently, described in exhaustive detail _exactly_ what it was supposed to do.

"O-o-okay..."

She felt it pop her head into its warm mouth.

Her hair nipped at its neck, leaving the tinniest little red pricks on the skin. It didn't need to be paralyzed much... just enough to relax its throat and help it to swallow her fully.

Ortiz heard it moan at the biting. Sharply at first, then gradually more gently as the venom took effect.

It moved up and down her shaft, lips pressed firmly around her, teeth dragging along her circumference.

Ortiz was accustomed to being large and strong and dangerous, which is why there was always such an illicit _thrill_ in allowing her most sensitive part to enter into the jaws of a hungry creature such as this. To be a big, scary gorgon like her _completely_ at the mercy of a smaller, weaker creature.

Its tongue rubbed against her as it sucked, trying to coax her to cum even faster. 

_Gods, it was so hungry!_ She thought. _So desperate and full of a raw, primal **need** and yet so... uncertain. So... vulnerable. It took direction beautifully, but it seemed like it had no idea what to do otherwise..._

_Wait... was this its first time?_

_...OH GODS, THIS WAS ITS FIRST TIME WASN'T IT?_

As she felt herself begin to climax, it pulled its lips back down the length of her shaft until it could tease her head with the tip of its tongue and taste every last drop of her salty cum.

She came panting and moaning and shaking with pleasure. The whole time Pitching Machine continued to suck at her head, caressing her with one hand to help get everything out while its _other_ hand explored the looped tabs of her harness, trying every one it could reach. 

She gave everything in her and it took it all. Just like a good little toy should.

Ortiz lay back on her bed flushed and gasping as Pitching Machine swallowed the last few drops of her and gently released her limp and retracting member from the embrace of its lips.

Then the room started to twist.

Ortiz felt her weight shifting, pulled in an inexplicable direction.

The little human Pitching Machine shifted around on top of her. It looked afraid.

"I... I think its happening again?"

"AHH... ahhh... What is?"

"I'm not sure... whatever has been happening to me?"

Ortiz bit her bottom lip hard enough to split the skin. She pulled her toy to her face and kissed it passionately, making sure to paint it's lips and tongue with the trickle of her rich Love blood.

It let out a startled gasp. "Wha...?"

She merely smiled. "You didn't think I'd let you leave without getting your dessert, did you? Good toys get the proper care and treatment they deserve. Enjoy what you earned."

It laughed, face flushed and eyes un-focusing. "Everything is blurring together. Is... is this normal?"

"Some of that is my blood, yes. That part is normal. Most of it is new. Tell me about it? How do you feel?"

"Incredible. Oh wow... OH WOW! I... I can feel everything. Me, you, the bed, the room, and the world full of sound and light and scent and _taste_ oh my gods I... _I can taste your heartbeat..._?"

"Then savor it, my little toy. You made it beat so loud and strong with ecstasy."

Tears welled in its eyes. "... please call me that again?"

She nuzzled it. "My little toy."

It sniffed. "I'm scared..."

Ortiz pressed its head to her breasts. It cried softly into her chest as she stroked its hair.

"Tell me it will be okay..."

"I won't lie to you, sweetie. I don't know if it will be."

It sobbed. She held it tightly.

"I can only make you this promise: If we meet again, you may have another taste of me..."

It trembled against her. It was shaking now. With fear. With excitement. With the obliterating throes of orgasm as it came, wet and hot and sticky, all over her abdomen. 

It vibrated with the same intensity as her _favorite_ toy had.

She kissed the top of it's head. "Be good. Be kind."

"Ah... Ah... I... AH... AHHHH... _I will..._ "

Then it disappeared.

\-----

Percival Wheeler crossed the strands of silk ribbon over each other one final time and pulled them tight, making sure they lay flat against the small of Jaylen's back. Jaylen squirmed and let out a little pant-moan.

"What did I tell you about holding still?" Percy said in a soft whisper as she gave a tiny tug on the back of Jaylen's blindfold.

Jaylen sucked in a breath and held herself motionless once again. She could hear the loving smile in Percy's voice as she praised her. 

"Good girl... Now keep still this time so I can seal you up all nice and pretty."

She pressed a finger to the spot to hold the ribbon in place. With her other hand she picked up the low burning candlestick.

Jaylen let out a sharp gasp of pleasure as Percy poured the hot wax onto her skin in a neat little puddle. She focused on holding the position, trying to distract her racing thoughts from the hot liquid rapidly cooling on the small of her back. She heard Percy set the candlestick back down and pick up her signet.

Jaylen had to bite her tongue as Percy pressed down hard on the warm blob of wax, imprinting it with her sealing mark.

"There we go... pretty as a picture. You are all neat and sealed for when you get to your destination. Just remember Jaylen..."

Percy leaned in close, her lips brushing Jaylen's ear.

"...the seal needs to be _intact_ when you are received. How else will the recipient know that you arrived _unopened_? Do you understand, my dear?"

Jaylen nodded.

There was a loud crash and the sound of wood splintering.

"...Percy, what was that?" Jaylen asked.

Percy kissed her on the back of the neck. "I'll go check. Wait right here for me while the wax sets."

\-----

Percy knocked on the door to Ortiz's room.

"Ortiz, sweetie? Is everything okay in there?"

She heard her girlfriend answer in a halting and winded voice.

"I'm... not sure?"

"I'm coming in then, okay love?"

"...okay."

Percy slowly opened the door and took in the scene before her.

Ortiz was sitting on the floor tangled in her bedsheets with her back propped against the nightstand looking disheveled, one foot hung up on the edge of the mattress. She was still wearing the rope harness Percy had fashioned for her earlier that evening, which Percy was _very pleased_ to see had, in fact, been loose enough to allow her to pull down her lingerie. Her face and breasts were still flushed with recent ecstasy and she had fresh cum splattered all over on her belly.

The pink gorgon caught her staring and turned a deep, brilliant crimson. "Oh... ummm, it's... not mine... in case you were wondering."

Percy nodded slowly and glanced sideways at the ruined bedframe, wooden debris, and the matte grey slab roughly the size of two large vending machines tipped over on it's side and humming. Blaseballs poured onto the floor out of an open hopper on the machine's top.

The machine gave a loud buzzing alarm as a square light on one face of it changed from green to red. A Blaseball fired out of a protruding chute, struck the opposite wall hard enough to crack the plaster, bounced off, rebounded off the ceiling, came down on the tilted mattress, then fell to the floor and rolled across the room stopping at Percy's feet.

"Ortiz... could you please explain what I'm seeing right now?"

"...I don't even know where to begin."


	3. Chapter 3

Zion Aliciakeyes was arms deep in the guts of a new hydraulic suspension system when the phone rang.

Dropping her tools she scrambled out from under the machinery, craning her neck to catch the number on the flickering display screen bolted to the wall.

Her heart sank. It was not the one she had been hoping for.

Zion tried to reassure herself that this was fine, that it was pretty normal to go days without hearing from Pitches. They both kept very busy schedules and lived in separate parts of the world after all...

Okay, so _maybe_ Zion had secretly been hoping that the siesta would clear up both of their schedules a lot more than it had. It was an improvement... Visits had been more frequent and lasted longer. During the regular season they had been lucky to find a couple solid hours between games when their teams played near each other. With the siesta they suddenly had entire days open up to them. Sure, the Coffee Cup threw a spanner in the works and Zion was basically still chained to her workshop, but for the first time they could afford to spend whole afternoons together... even a few nights and mornings too.

The problem was that Zion couldn't stop worrying about how they had left things after the last time. She needed to speak to Pitches, let her know it wasn't her fault that Zion had freaked out. That all that stuff was in the past and over and done with. Zion was a Tiger. Tigers Never Looked Back... no matter how much they might want to.

The phone was still ringing, hammer insistently clanging on brass.

With a disappointed sigh, Zion wiped an oil-coated hand on her overalls until it was mostly clean. Time to find out what her teammate wanted...

She lifted the earpiece off the receiver and cradled it between her head and shoulder.

"Yeah, Ren? Talk fast, I'm in the middle of something."

Even over the pop and hiss of the jury-rigged phone line, the deep voice of Ren Morrin always seemed to come through with _unsettling_ clarity.

" **Good morning, Zion. You have a visitor from San Francisco who has been asking for your _personal_ address. Shall I provide it to her?**"

"...Huh? Ren, who the hell do I know in San Francisco?"

" **One Ms. Ortiz Lopez. Rather striking woman who plays for the Lovers. She wants to pick your brain about a mechanical concern she says is quite urgent. Something about a potato gun, I believe?** "

"Ren, did you really just interrupt my whole workflow for a damn _potato gun_? And why is she coming all the way down here to bother _me_ about this?"

" **She had a referral to you from someone in Seattle.** "

Zion's heart skipped a beat. "Pitches?"

" **She didn't specify. I get the impression it's a _discreet_ matter.**"

"Sure. Send her over then. Tell her I'll leave the door unlocked."

\-----

"Excuse me...Do I have the correct address?"

The rodent-headed plague demon glanced up from their ledger at the pink, eyeless woman in red who stood before the counter, misshapen bundle tucked under one arm. She was so _impossibly_ tall that even with stooped posture the wide brim of her hat brushed against the rafters. And there was something about her braided hair that had them on edge...

They looked down at the piece of paper the woman was holding out to them. It was an ink stained mess of directions that took a moment to decipher.

"Almost. You want my tenant downstairs. Knock loudly until you hear profane oaths being hurled about; That means she heard you."

The woman smiled politely. "Thank you very much!"

She turned to leave with a swish of her long overcoat. All down her back a bouquet of serpents flicked their tongues at the apothecary.

They blanched.

\-----

Ortiz rapped at the door until she heard a stream of profanity that was nearly vulgar enough to make even _her_ blush.

"...sorry! It's unlocked. Just come in and make yourself comfortable."

The woman she was looking for was perched on the shoulders of an enormous suit of mechanized armor with her back to the door. The little imp was bent at the waist, one elbow braced on the open skull of the mech, her other hand rooting around inside its head.

"Almost got ya, _you little..._ " she muttered, going onto the tips of her toes as she leaned farther forward, her posture perfectly framing the contours of her ass through her oil and grease-stained overalls.

Ortiz heard the faint sound of metal sliding on metal.

"Oh, **come on!** " The imp said, flicking her tail in irritation.

She scooted herself in even deeper, feet leaving the ground completely as she flapped her wings to steady herself. The denim covering her body was now pulled so _tightly_ against her backside that Ortiz could make a pretty informed guess about the _exact_ cut of her panties.

"Gotcha!" She yelped in triumph, as she extracted her torso from the machine. From behind, the outline of her head was punctuated by the points of her horns poking through holes in the bandana holding back her hair. She arched the small of her back as she lifted the wrench up to the light and examined it, cutting a _stunning_ figure that Ortiz would have liked to see captured in marble.

" _Well..._ " Ortiz announced. "Credit where credit is due: You certainly know how to make an _exceptional_ first impression."

The barbed tail gave a little twitch of surprise. The imp straightened up and looked over her shoulder with an expression of pure puzzlement on her bespectacled face. She idly scratched the back of her neck with the wrench she held in her grease-caked hand.

"Huh? ...What are even you talking about?"

Ortiz's lips quirked in a small smile.

 _Oh honey..._ she thought. _You don't actually have the slightest clue what a little **snack** you are._

\-----

Ortiz accepted the coffee cup, the tips of her fingers brushing the surface of Zion's metallic digits as she did so.

"Thank you, sweetie."

Zion didn't seem to notice. She took a sip from her own mug.

"Sorry that the coffee is shit." she muttered. "I dismantled the good machine the other day for a project so right now we're stuck with this barely drinkable instant crap. I still can't believe the new ownership gave them an IBL sponsorship deal..."

Ortiz nodded, her many pairs of eyes taking in the room.

Zion's home was a disorderly mess. Everything was everywhere without any semblance of organization. Half the appliances were in some state of being dismantled and the rest were highly modified. Every bit of furniture that wasn't extensively repaired by hand was clearly either salvaged or built from scratch.

It was one of the coziest living spaces Ortiz had ever seen.

Zion's workshop took up the bulk of the space, and the bulk of the workshop was taken up by the latest version of "Iron Lion": the fan nickname for the series of mech suits that Zion personally designed, built, scrapped and rebuilt anew to allow her to play Blaseball for the Hades Tigers.

Zion finished clearing a corner of the workbench onto which Ortiz placed her misshapen bundle.

She unwrapped it.

Zion stared blankly.

"I guess Ren wasn't kidding when he said you wanted to ask me about a _potato gun..._ "

"I assure you it actually is important, if a bit complicated..."

"Still though... why did you need to come bother _me_ specifically about this? Spud guns aren't very complicated ya' know."

"Oliver Notarobot directed me to you by name. He said that your skills came highly recommended and that you may have some additional insight into a rather... _delicate_ situation."

"You had _better_ not mean what I think you mean by that..."

Ortiz tilted her head slightly. "...I'll admit, I'm now _curious_. What _did_ you think I meant by--"

The clanging of a brass bell interrupted her.

Zion ran to the other side of the half-assembled mech and shot a look at the read-out on the wall. Then she sighed and slumped her shoulders.

"...gimme a second."

Zion returned a few minutes later, phone call concluded.

"That was just Ren. He says your team captain called the stadium trying to reach you. Asked me to let you know that Charleston called back and that... uh, 'she agreed to meet with you tomorrow afternoon', whatever that means."

"Thank you, sweetie. Are you usually that upset to hear from your teammates?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not upset. I just don't like having to answer the phone all that much. It breaks-up my workflow."

"Really? You keep looking at that phone like you're expecting a call."

Zion glanced away distractedly. "Not so much expecting, as hoping. I'm... waiting for a friend to get back in touch with me."

Ortiz raise one ruby-red eyebrow. "Are you sure it's a _friend_ you are waiting on?"

"Yeah... why wouldn't it be?"

"Because if you were any more lovelorn right now, honey, I don't think you could stay standing."

It was the first time Ortiz had seen an imp blush.

" **You're wrong.** "

" _Really?_ You're looking a bit flustered, sweetie... Are you quite sure about that?"

"I **don't** know what you are talking about! Pitches is just a very, very good friend."

Ortiz furrowed her brow. "...Pitches?"

"Yeah, Pitches. Tends to stand out in crowd? Plays for the Seattle Garages? Sort of famous, I guess, because of the whole thing with the Idol board and the Shelling and the PODs?"

"...are you trying to describe _Pitch-ems_?"

" _...Pitch-ems?_ "

"Yes... my cute little Pitch-ems. More commonly known to the press as Pitching Machine?"

"Yeah, I guess most people call them Pitching Mach-- Wait, _your_ Pitch-ems? What do you mean **_your_** Pitch-ems?! ...also _Pitch-ems_? ...seriously?"

"Oh, I don't mean to imply that we're _exclusive_. Pitch-ems and I have an open relationship now. We weren't at first, but my boundaries have since grown more flexible about who my partners can and can't drink blood from. But I will not tolerate your insinuation that Pitch-ems and I are anything but serious."

Ortiz reached a hand into her blouse and withdrew a locket on a chain.

"Come have a look for yourself."

Zion took the tan, coarse locket from Ortiz's open palm and examined it.

 _It's carved from peanut shell..._ she realized.

With a shaky hand, Zion undid the clasp.

Inside the locket was a photograph. On the right the tall, regal figure of Ortiz Lopez stood in an elegant gown, her mouth turned up in a coy little smile. On the left...

Zion nearly plummeted as she burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh... You had me going there for a second, Ortiz!"

The gorgon just stared at Zion, too stunned to be indignant.

Zion's laughter died away in fits and bursts. 

"Wait... You were being serious?"

"Absolutely. That photo was taken at the Steak's big Hlomecoming dance. I carry it with me everywhere now. I'm surprised you didn't see us there... we were _quite_ the talk of the evening."

"Oh... I didn't go to Hlomecoming... I had better things to work on that evening. But uh... Ortiz? That isn't Pitches... That's a _literal, actual_ mechanical pitching machine you are standing next to in that photo."

"Yes." She said simply. "That's my little Pitch-ems! Been cute as a button ever since first joining the league."

"No, Ortiz... That's a **_literal_** pitching machine to which someone has apparently attached a bowtie and a _knife_ for some reason... Also, Pitches doesn't look anything even remotely like that! Here... I'll show you a picture. Errr... Actually you'll need to follow me first."

\-----

Ortiz had to duck her head as Zion led her up the back stairs and onto the roof. A complicated reception array clearly built from spare and salvaged parts hung off of one corner of the building, cables trailing away to Zion's residence on the ground floor. Zion flew over to the center of the homemade signal reflectors and unplugged the cellphone from its mounting.

Ortiz couldn't decide if she was impressed or amused at the sight.

"That seems... complicated." She finally said.

Zion gave her a dismissive snort. "Cell reception is abysmal in Hades. We are _literally_ 99% dead zone here. Anyway..."

Zion turned the screen towards her. Ortiz leaned down and brought a few locks of her hair closer to have a look.

Through the wandering eyes of her serpents, Ortiz scrutinized the image. In the picture, Zion and a humanoid of medium height and slender but muscular build were sitting on the banks of an ash-grey river eating dumplings from a street vendor's takeaway box. The person beside Zion was fem-presenting with a pixie-cut of electric blue hair. Their face and the exposed skin of their arms was lined with patchwork seams, like they had been stitched together by hand. At first they looked to be made of flesh... but the metallic sheen of their eyes revealed that some parts of them were clearly artificial. The stitched-faced person was holding the phone up to take the picture and beaming, a stray dab of sauce on the corner of their mouth. Beside them Zion was also smiling and posing, her grin sharp and toothy. On the ground between them their hands were almost touching.

" **That** is Pitches." Zion said, breaking Ortiz's concentration. "We first met early last season. Oliver Notarobot introduced us because Pitches needed some complicated repairs done and he heard I knew a lot about maintenance. Are you and I on the same page now?"

"Sweetie... while you and your partner are very cute together, I _assure_ you that person is not who I and everyone else recognize as Pitching Machine."

"Pitches _isn't_ my partner! We don't have that kind of relationship. _Can't_ have that kind of relationship!"

"Why not, sweetie? Love comes in many shapes and you two look very happy together. Speaking off the record, one of my own partners is what people who use labels might describe as aromantic and "unknowable", yet we still share a close emotional bond... among other activities."

Zion looked mystified. "How does that even... work?"

Ortiz smiled. "We fuck platonically. As for motivations, I don't fully understand why Alexander does the things that Alexander does for the inscrutable reasons that Alexander does them and I've given up trying in favor of simply enjoying what it is that we see in one another."

"Well, I don't have that kind of relationship with Pitches, okay?"

"Because you don't want it?"

Zion turned the deepest shade of red Ortiz had seen her become yet. 

"I said can't. I meant **can't.** I _can't_ ever have that kind of connection with someone who has trusted me to repair the effects of _mind control_."

In the silence that followed, Zion saw Ortiz make a visible effort to restrain herself before speaking at last, rage palpable in her barely controlled tone. 

"...The SHELLED ONE?"

Zion looked away angrily. "Yeah... Pitches calls it the 'Root User'. What it did was fucked up."

"I know..." Ortiz said. 

"Yeah, well, I had the responsibility of trying to _fix_ that. I want you to imagine what that's like for me, Ortiz. Say that you knew someone had previously rewritten part of your mind to be their puppet and you want to get that damage repaired. How do you know the person fixing your brain isn't messing around with you too? Literally putting new ideas into your head? Removing memories that they'd rather you not know about?"

Ortiz shuddered. "You wouldn't... you'd have to trust them completely."

"Yeah... now imagine that they asked you to do something for them. Lets say it's even something that you want to do anyway. Aren't you always going to wonder in the back of your head if you actually had a choice in the matter? You don't understand how much I'm _still_ being trusted, even after all the repairs have been finished. Pitches' memories have been severely damaged as a side effect of the mind control and we were only able to _mostly_ recover them. I think there might even be some metaphorical wires getting crossed in there because I keep getting asked questions about places the two of us never went together and conversations that we never had. I have to keep verifying what is real and what is just a glitched memory of something that didn't actually happen.

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. "Zion... Sweetie..."

"Ortiz, listen to me! I've _never_ asked Pitches for anything major. How _could_ I? Under the circumstances that would be downright _coercive_.

"...So what if you weren't the person doing the asking? What if Pitches asked _you_ instead? Out of a genuine romantic interest?"

"Alright, _maybe_ if Pitches took _unprompted_ initiative and came to _me_ with the idea of us dating, then _maybe_... But I can't just pin my hopes on that happening."

Ortiz gave her head a sad little shake. "It seems to me that's _exactly_ what you've been doing, honey."

Zion's eyes narrowed. "No. I'm maintaining an appropriate emotional distance and keeping my expectations realistic."

"If you say so..."

Zion spread her wings in a huff and flew off to place her cellphone back in the receiver array.

When she returned, Ortiz was looking into the distance deep in thought, her expression worried.

Zion rolled her eyes. "Okay... what is it now?"

"Just thinking about what you said about the SHELLED ONE. It did the same thing to my Pitch-ems, you know..."

"You know what? Pretend I _don't_ know because maybe then you'll explain what the _fuck_ you actually mean by 'your' Pitch-ems."

"What I'm suggesting, Zion, is that Pitches hasn't been around for as long as you seem to think."

"No... you're mistaken. I've _seen_ the size and extent of Pitches' memory files even if I didn't read the contents. I personally transferred them over to the new hardware. Pitches' mind has enough lived experience on file to line up with the league records. I know because I had to comb through the databases of game history as well to make sure time-stamps were aligned properly. I can assure you that Pitches has had a full career in the IBL consistent with the publicly available records." 

Ortiz wore a look of amused confusion. "You mean to tell me, sweetie, that you did all this work researching Pitching Machine's history and never once saw a promotional photo?"

Zion snorted derisively. "Photos just sell tabloids about who Jaylen Hotdogfingers is fucking _this_ week. Data and numbers tell the real story."

"Oh? In that case I know how I could prove to you that I know what I'm talking about. You said that you could see the aftereffects of the SHELLED ONE'S control when you examined Pitches? Would you recognize the signs if you saw them again? Hypothetically?"

Zion crossed her arms a bit defensively. "Well... yeah. It should be pretty obvious since I know exactly what to look for now. The rootkit left _very_ distinct scars in Pitches' mind."

Ortiz smiled. "Oh, good! I'm going to need you to fix a potato gun...."

\-----

Zion returned from her workshop gripping a half-empty mug of coffee and looking incredibly irritable.

For her seat on the beat-up sofa, Ortiz glanced down at her. "So... how is it going?"

She made a sound like a large cat being strangled.

"That bad?"

Zion's voice came out flat and even. "Oh no... I'm done. It went much faster this time because you were right... it's all the same, Ortiz. The _exact_ **same** fucking program."

She shut her eyes and rubbed at her temples. "Same exploits. Same vulnerabilities. Same bastardized transcription like it was coded starting from the result and working backwards without actually understanding logic or language or elegance of design. It's all a hideous mess brute-forced into being that can somehow spit out the desired output every time... and it's the _same_ hideous mess as the one that I found with its claws sunk into Pitches."

She groaned long and low. "The potato gun you brought in was formerly a POD... which means that home-made sentient spud cannon on my work bench is a Pitching Machine. Not _our_ Pitching Machine... but unmistakably **a** Pitching Machine."

Zion half-expected Ortiz to gloat about being right. She didn't.

"So what do you want to do about it, Zion?"

She sighed. "I want to go with you to Charleston. I've wasted too much of our time already being wrong and arguing over it... we need to figure this out and I need to see Pitches again. Pitches needs to know about this. About... being an Alternate."

"...are you so certain that Pitches doesn't already know?"

Zion shot her a cross look. "It's never _once_ come up in conversation."

Ortiz said nothing.

Zion swallowed the last of her coffee. "I need to go pack. I'll be back in a few."

She stalked out of the room. Ortiz watched her leave with a look of pity.

_Oh honey... you don't even realize, do you?_


	4. Chapter 4

Once everything settled, it hadn't taken long at all for Pitches to realize that she was in a different reality than before.

There were a lot of clues to go by: the café décor was far more rustic than it had been a minute ago, there was no Wi-Fi signal at all, and all of the cats were now much taller, had thumbs, and appeared to be both patrons and staff.

They were also all staring.

"Uh... Ma'am?" One of the baristas said. "Forgive me fer bein' nosy, but weren't ya' just a bit more... _'Leggy'_ when ya' came in?"

_I SEEM TO BE DISORIENTED. QUERY: WHERE AM I?_

"...Moab? You feeling paw right sugar?"

_CURRENT STATUS: UNCERTAIN. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONCERN. TERM: MOAB IS NOT RECOGNIZED_

Some of the cat people in the room exchanged glances.

_QUERY: MAY I HAVE ACCESS TO YOUR CONNECTION TO THE DATA NETWORK?_

"Our what now?"

Pitches was silent for a long pause.

_THAT IS UNFORTUNATE_

"...Can I get you anything else, hon? Ya' still have another refill on your credit."

_YES. QUERY: MAY I PLEASE HAVE 1 MACCHIATO AND 1 "DIRECTIONS TO CALIFORNIA''?_

\-----

Pitches walked through the dusty streets of Moab observing her new surroundings.

By approximately TIME: EVENING she had reached the outskirts of town and began the long trek along the highway heading south.

She didn't get very far before something stopped her.

Pitches was surprised by all the birds.

The number was not the surprising part. In her experience, BIRDS usually occurred in units of MANY.

The surprising part was how _big_ they were.

She approached one that had parked itself down in the middle of the road. As she got closer it craned its long neck to look at her. Then it reared up and she realized it was even taller than she was. The bird looked down at her, feathers ruffled and wings spread. It scratched at the ground with the long talons of one big foot.

Someone was addressing her.

"Just back off slowly, but don't break eye contact."

Pitches did. The enormous bird watched her with suspicion, then eventually settled itself back down.

She looked around for the source of the voice. A little ways off the road a person was sitting leaned against the flank of an even bigger sleeping bird fitted with a saddle. 

Pitches slowly approached the figure. Their feet were kicked up on their bags, spurs gleaming on the heels of their dusty boots. The legs of their pants and the sleeves of their jacket looked longer and thicker than was comfortable in the heat of the desert. Most of their outfit was earth-toned, save for a red bandana tied loosely at their throat. A bundle of dark dreadlocks spilled down their neck from beneath a broad-brimmed hat. They were looking back at her, sizing her up in turn.

_HELLO_

The seated person tipped their hat. "Howdy..."

Pitches wasn't great with small-talk, but commenting on WEATHER was always an option.

_THERE APPEAR TO BE MANY BIRDS HERE_

"Yep. A word of caution, stranger: you may want to keep your distance for 'em. The cocks are always touchy, but even the hens are gonna be agitated when the flock is movin' to a new range."

_THANK YOU FOR THE WARNING STRANGER_

"Think nothin' of it. I'd just hate to see someone get themselves savaged when I coulda said somethin' to stop 'em."

_PRESENT CIRCUMSTANCES DO NOT ALTER MY NEED FOR TRAVEL ALONG THIS HEADING. I WILL AVOID DISTRUBING THE BIRDS_

"I'd _strongly_ advise against it. Them birds are _real_ ornery about anything much bigger than a coyote. Just sit a spell. They'll be gone by sundown, don't you fret." 

_QUERY: WHAT CHANGE IN THE PRESENT CIRCUSTANCES WILL OCCUR BY TIME: SUNDOWN?_

"That's when me and the other wranglers drive them south without the blazing sun beating down on us. Those big beauties can run for hours even with a ridder and saddlebags, so your way should be nice and clear soon enough."

_QUERY: NAME?_

"Nobody much. Just a simple fella trying to make an honest livin'."

Pitches looked at the great sleeping bird the man was resting against.

_QUERY: WITH BIRDS?_

He snorted. "It pays well enough."

_I WOULD NOT HAVE A PROPER FRAME OF REFERENCE. BLASEBALL IS THE ONLY OCCUPATION I HAVE EVER BEEN ASSIGNED_

He looked at her sharply. "I wouldn't say that too loudly if I was you."

_QUERY: WHY NOT?_

"Heck, Blaseball has been outlawed just about everywhere west of the Rockies for as long as I can remember. Maybe as far back as the War of the Continental Divide."

_QUERY: WHY?_

"Damned if I know. Probably a religious thing, honestly. Folks in this part of the world get enough trouble from the local rogues' gallery of gods without having to drag more into it... especially not as irascible a bunch as the pantheon attached to Blaseball."

Pitches suppressed a shudder.

"Point is, you won't find any big deal teams from here to the coast, save for one and they play all their games on the road on account of every one of them bein' wanted outlaws in their own city. Then again, there ain't no other team or gang quite like the Tacos so they're always the exception to the rule."

_QUERY: WHY DOES STRANGER KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT AN ILLEGAL SPLORT?_

His eyes got shrewd. "Who's askin'?"

_ANSWER: ME_

"And who's that?"

_QUERY: WHO IS ASKING?_

The man burst out laughing.

"Well, I guess there's no harm in talkin' about the past with another nameless drifter. Just don't you go spreadin' this around now, ya hear me?"

_ANSWER: I HEAR YOU_

He squinted at her. "...and?"

_ADDENDUM: DESPITE APPEARANCES I AM NOT A SNITCH_

He laughed again. "Good enough, I guess. Well, I know so much because I ain't from around these parts. Also because I used to be a player in the Wildcat leagues back in Texas. Wasn't too bad either. Mighta been good enough to get picked up by a real team if I had gotten a lucky break."

_QUERY: WHAT IS THE DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTIC OF LEAGUE (WILDCAT)?_

"Mostly being small and informal and _very_ illegal to bet on, not that anyone let that stop 'em. The teams were anybody who actually showed up to play that game, so every team was the Wildcats."

_QUERY: HOW IS STRANGER CAPABLE OF NO LONGER PLAYING BLASEBALL?_

His eyes narrowed. "Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?"

_ANSWER: YES. I HAVE FREQUENTLY BEEN ENCOURAGED TO ASK QUESTIONS BY SOMEONE IMPORTANT TO ME_

"Well, so long as you come by it honestly..."

_QUERY: WAS THE PREVIOUS TOPIC OF INQUIRY MAKING STRANGER UNCOMFORTABLE?_

"Lets just say I, uh, may have run afoul of the law over a less-than-legal splorts betting hustle I was _allegedly_ running at the time. Had to skip the whole darn territory to get clear of that mess. But I've put my Blaseball crimes behind me... Err, _alleged_ crimes, and I'm on the straight and narrow. Just doing honest rodeo work these days."

_QUERY: WORK (RODEO ( HONEST ) ) REQUIRES THE USE OF PERSONAL ARMAMENTS?_

His eyes flicked down to the pair of revolvers he wore slung on his hips, then back to her.

"It's a dangerous world out there. Just about everyone who leaves the safety of a settlement carries a means of defending themselves from whatever they might encounter."

He looked her up and down.

"I notice that you don't look like you carry a weapon... but looks can be deceiving. You one of those unarmed fighter types?"

_MY PRINCIPAL SKILL IS PITCHING A BLASEBALL_

He cocked an eyebrow. "You fancy yerself a pitcher?"

_ANSWER: CORRECT. MY PITCHING ABILITY IS ABOVE AVERAGE FOR MY PEER GROUP_

"Well... I'd like to see it. Care for a friendly contest? I still have my old equipment with me. The bat is mostly been seeing use dealing with ankle bitters that ain't worth wasting a bullet on."

_ANSWER: I AM IN A HURRY, BUT MY PROGRESS IS HALTED BY BIRDS AT THIS TIME_

"Well in that case let's make this interesting... If you can strike me out, I'll let you double up in my saddle when I head south. Just get 4 strikes past me without a walk and I'll take you as far down the road as our paths allow.

_QUERY: WHAT IS THE OUTCOME IF I DO NOT?_

"Then I won't. Keeps me honest since I'm the one judging. Loser still has to collect the balls afterwards though. We can use those feed bags over there for a mound. Here... catch."

He tossed her a leather satchel. She caught it. Inside were a bunch of worn and scuffed blaseballs.

\-----

Pitches squared up and threw a fastball straight down the center at a blistering pace. The man was so caught off guard by the speed and power of the throw he forgot to even swing.

"...Strike 1-0." he said. "I guess I better get serious..."

Pitches drew another ball from the satchel and squared up again. She watched the batter carefully. He was much more attentive now.

She threw a change up. It maintained a beautiful straight and slow trajectory before breaking low at the last second. The batter sung and missed.

"Hmmmm... Strike 2-0"

Pitches threw a sinker, trying to double bluff after the change-up. The batter saw through it though. He swung and made contact with a crack. The ball went flying.

"...yep, that's a Foul ball. 3-0 then."

Pitches studied him carefully. By her estimation the batter really _was_ good enough to fill a spot in an IBL line-up. She needed to get serious too.

She squared up one more time and threw her slider.

The pitch came hard and fast into the strike zone. The batter was ready for it and swing for the fences... but the pitch curved to the outside and the bat missed it by less than an inch.

"...gods **damned!** " he swore. "You weren't kiddin'! You could have scouts come to blows fightin' to sign you with an arm like that!"

_I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE WITH SCOUTING ON WHICH TO EVALUATE_

"Well you hold tight while I go pick up and break camp."

By the time the man had finished packing everything away the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon.

"Alright... A deals a deal so I guess yer riding with me. You best get on first."

He made a step with his hands to help her climb up to the back of the enormous bird. Once Pitches was balanced in the saddle he stepped into the stirrups and threw his other leg over the top.

As he took the reins and eased the big bird to a standing position he turned to look at her over one shoulder.

"Almost plain forgot... If we're riding together we may as well be better acquainted. What's your name stranger?"

_MY OFFICIAL DESIGNATION IS "PITCHING MACHINE"_

He nearly fell out of the saddle.

_I AM ALSO REFERRED TO AS "PITCHES" AS A TERM OF ENDEARMENT_

" _No shit?_ ...Well no wonder your arm is so damn hot! What the _hell_ are you doing in these parts? Last I heard you were ridin' with the Firefighters after you fell out of the sky over Chicago. Of course, I also heard that you was a big ol' Gatling cannon on wheels and not a cute little firecracker like yerself so guess that goes to show what the rumor mill will spit out."

_QUERY: STRANGER THINKS I AM CUTE? ___

"Naturally. Shucks ma'am, I prefer the fellas but even I can tell that."

_THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT. ANSWER: I AM ENROUTE TO "LOS ANGELI"_

He chuckled. "I shoulda guessed... Well Pitches, yer in luck because The Infinite City is exactly where I'm drivin' this flock to market. You may want to lay a bit low once you get there though... There's probably still bounties on your head and every half-wit bootlicker who thinks they're hot shit will be looking to collect."

_THANK YOU FOR THE WARNING STRANGER_

"Please, the name's Spliff... But you can call me Cedric. You best hold on tight now, we're going to be runnin' like the wind."

\-----

Cedric had not been exaggerating the speed of their mount. After a single night of hard riding and minimal stops to fend off wandering monsters they made it to California just as dawn was breaking over the horizon. By TIME: MID-MORNING they reached the outskirts of The Infinite City.

The city began where the wilderness gave way to vast tracts of low urban sprawl that sharply climbed into the sky at the city center. Except where a smaller metropolis would have simply peaked, the Los Angeli kept climbing up to eternity.

The horizon above the city was split open. The city skyline bent and curved into the hole in twisting fractal spirals.

The view of the cities in the kaleidoscope sky stretched away into infinity: A wide multiverse of Los Angeli, all bleeding into each other. If you walked far enough in the Infinite City you could reach any one of them.

Or at the very least, any in which a Grand Unslam had shattered spacetime during an otherwise typical Tacos/Shoe Thieves game.

It was more or less exactly like she remembered it.

There _were_ considerably more airships than she recalled, but almost all of them looked like local traffic.

As the wranglers herded the flock along the edge of civilization, Cedric eased the sprinting bird to a trot. Then to an ambling gait. Finally, to a halt. It lowered itself to the ground a few yards from where the dust of the road gave way to pavement.

"Well," Cedric said "this here is where we part ways. Been a real pleasure having yer company!"

_THE FEELING IS RECIPROCATED. THE ASSISTANCE PROVIDED BY CEDRIC WAS INVALUABLE. THANK YOU_

"Much obliged, Pitches. That satchel is yours to keep. Ya more than earned it helpin' us drive those hungry critters off and you've got more need of it than me."

_THANK YOU. I APPRECIATE THE TOKEN OF FRIENDSHIP_

"Shucks, it ain't nothin'. You take care now... And best of luck findin' that lady 'yer looking for."


	5. Chapter 5

"So let me make sure I heard you both right," Esme Ramsey said in an exasperated tone. "You two have each been sort-of involved with two _different_ synthetics with the _exact_ same name playing the _exact_ same position for the _exact_ same team. Except, _surprise_ , they're not _actually_ different people... except they _are_ , because parallel realities are involved? And this whole time they've been switching places with... _themselves_? And neither of you two knew about each other? And neither of _them_ knew about each other? And not a one of you thought to question _any_ of this until now because...?"

Zion groaned. "Because _Blaseball._ "

Esme clicked her tongue. "...fair enough."

"So we came here to ask for your help." Ortiz said.

"Right. You want _my_ help sorting things out with your... partner?"

Esme looked askance at the forklift. It beeped its horn.

She shook her head. "I'm not paid to be a relationship counsellor."

Zion hovered irritably. "Look. We _just_ learned that this is a thing that's been happening for a while, only now it's started happening more often and without warning and that's just going to make things even more complicated than they apparently already were. We have no idea where to even _start_ troubleshooting this, and the closest person to an expert anyone we asked can think of is currently down in the Hall."

"Still sounds like none of my business. I don't really know any of you and this seems like it can be solved with a long conversation about polyamory that the four of you can take somewhere else."

Zion nearly lunged at her, but Ortiz seized the airborne imp by the collar of her jacket before she could swoop at the impassive woman.

"I'm afraid it's more complex than that," the gorgon said, imp flailing angrily at the end of her arm. "There's more than just two of them."

Both of Esme's eyebrows shot up. "...go on."

"I first discovered these substitutions were happening during, ah, a moment of passion..."

Zion stopped kicking and just hung there, flustered and stunned at what she had just heard. Even Esme looked a bit taken aback by the thought.

"It was a **miracle** that things were not even _more_ intimate at the moment of substitution. Thankfully all involved were at least... amenable to the unexpected circumstances. That is not a gamble we will be making a second time."

"Fuck..." Zion mumbled, "I hadn't even _considered_ that possibility."

Ortiz gave her a look. "Little one, did you think I would go to Hades in person and disturb the tranquility of your hearth without warning for anything less than a matter of gravity? Consent is _sacrosanct_."

Zion squirmed at being called "little one".

Esme looked sharply at her. "You're from Hades?"

"Uh, yeah? Line-up batter for the Tigers? Big stompy mech? I know I've got a new prototype just about every game but they're not exactly subtle."

"...I'm sorry."

"...Eh?"

"My condolences, I mean... You lost even more friends than I did that awful season."

"Oh... Well, you know... Never Look Back, right?"

Zion took out a cloth to wipe her glasses. For some reason her vision was cloudy and her cheeks were wet. Nobody commented on it though.

Esme cleared her throat.

"Alright, fine... but you get just one. And don't go around telling people I said yes or else everyone will come asking. I only operate a switchboard for one lady and none of you are her."

Esme closed her eyes and appeared to concentrate her focus. The air shimmered. Suddenly a hulking shadow materialized behind her. It flowed into her being, drawn completely inside Esme like a drop of ink vanishing into the sucking mouth of a straw.

When Esme opened her eyes again they were twin orbs of bottomless darkness. She opened her mouth and spoke in a voice not her own. It was deep and gruff, though still very much not amused.

"Well, it's about _damn_ time you punks called! I've been waiting for an eternity to hear from one of you! Someone had _better_ have been looking after my cats since I was sent down here."

"...Mr. Monstera, I presume?" Ortiz ventured.

Esme blinked, squinted and looked at the three of them.

"...you all aren't calling from Seattle I take it?"

Ortiz shook her head. "No... but we do have one of the newer Garages' members here with us. It has a problem and we need your expertise."

" **She** " Zion said curtly.

"Oh, my apologies. ...Yours is a she?"

Zion looked at her in genuine confusion. "Yours... _isn't_?"

"Would someone please explain to me what in the lower realms you two are talking about?"

The forklift beeped its horn. Esme scrutinized it.

Ortiz relaxed her stance. "Mr. Monstera, allow me to introduce Pitching Machine. Pitching Machine? This is Ron Monstera, formerly of the Seattle Garages..."

\-----

Esme sat listening to Ortiz repeat her explanation of the situation.

She let out a long sigh and cracked her knuckles.

"Alright..." Ron's voice said, "I'm gonna need some scratch paper and a damn half-decent cup of coffee. No sugar, milk substitute."

Zion produced a battered notebook and a heavily chewed pencil from her bag and handed them over. Ortiz left to appropriate the Shoe Thieves' breakroom.

Esme rapidly flipped through through the pages looking for blank space. Then she went slower, fingers tracing around the mechanical sketches and scrawled calculations.

"...is all of this _your_ work?" Ron asked.

"Who else's would it be? Nobody touches my baby except for **me**. What's it to you?"

Esme rolled her shoulders, letting out a snort. "Nothing. I just used to build my own synthesizers... and I pioneered the design of diesel-powered brass instruments. You ever heard of the Monsteraphone?"

Zion raised an eyebrow. "Can't say the name rings a bell."

Ron chuckled. "You would _remember_ you ever heard one, trust me! ...what's this?"

Esme turned the book sideways in her hands, appraising the unusually clean lines of a double-page diagram.

Zion blushed slightly. "That's nothing... just a King Wen sequence. It's... used in conjunction with the I Ching."

Esme's brow furrowed. 

"That's a divination tool... right?" Ron asked.

Zion blinked in surprise. "Yeah... you know it?"

"Not especially, I've just heard of it. My area of focus was mostly northern European runic ritual workings. So... you also study the occult?"

"A bit, yeah." Zion admitted. "Mostly I write Fulu Talismans to help keep my mech held together. Just something to squeeze one more inning and a half of play out of it. Every little bit helps."

Ron laughed. "Okay... I'm now _much_ more confident that you'll get _any_ of what I'm going to lay down for you."

Ron Monstera launched into a lengthy explanation of multiverse theory, the interactions between alternate realities and how it was all related to chord harmonics. Zion felt that she was following it better than most would, but she still was stopping often to ask questions or get citations for related literature to reference in detail.

Eventually she held up a hand to pause the lecture. She had a nagging question that was proving to be a significant distraction.

"Mind if I ask something a bit more personal?"

"Hmm? Well you _did_ make the effort to call me up from beyond the grave, so... sure, ask away."

Zion took a deep breath. "So what's it like... having been an Alternate?"

"Different for everyone, I expect. Its a big multiverse, so almost nobody who got switched out by the decree came from identical circumstances. Not everyone who showed up did so in a big flashy way or had everyone asking why they're suddenly a catboy now. It took _me_ about a week to realize that anything was actually different, and I already _knew_ about alternate realities at the time."

"Is it really possible to just... not know what happened to you?"

"That all depends on how similar the realities are to each other. Take the catboy for example... he came from a reality where Seattle didn't even have a Blaseball team at all, so much of his life at that point was very different from our original non-catboy teammate. He could tell immediately that something was up because a bunch of strangers were expecting him to start playing a game he'd never heard of instead of... whatever he was up to before. Fighting monsters and opposing the monarchy, I guess? The more similar the circumstances of your life, the more of your history you end up sharing and the more likely you are to have turned out the same. The biggest difference between myself and the Ron who started in this reality was what part of the occult we ended up studying for our research. Finding some detailed dissertations on Goetic bindings among my notes was what finally proved to me that I was dwelling in an alternate Ron's world now."

"So then... if someone was romantically involved with a person in one reality there is a good chance that their Alternate would be involved with that person's Alternate in another?"

"More or less, yeah... that's what happened with Allison and Kichiro anyway, from what I recall. I think they were still together back when I was alive? I guess Nailbat had enough in common with her girlfriend's Alternate to make it work."

"That's the part I really don't get, Ron. How are they just... _okay_ with that? They aren't the same people! The Kichiro from this reality still exists somewhere in the multiverse, and your teammate just... hooks up with her doppelgänger like nothing changed? And everyone just treats that like it's normal?!"

"I don't think anyone involved is _actually_ that casual about it, least of all the two ladies in question. Sounds like _you've_ put a lot of thought into this yourself as well..."

Zion flustered and crossed her arms defensively. "I was in the _same_ position that your teammate was, Ron. Someone very dear to me was swept off to another world without warning. Her replacement was still a wonderful person and a good friend... but she wasn't the same person. She wasn't the one that I..."

Zion swallowed.

"She wasn't the same Yaz that I fell for. That Yaz is lost to me and I never even told her how I really felt."

_Why was she even telling him this? Did she just have to tell **someone?** What was she even hoping to gain from this?_

Esme gave a curt nod.

"That's rough," Ron said.

Zion felt strangely lighter.

She sighed. "Well now the closest friend I have is an Alternate... and what if she had more in common with this reality's Pitching Machine than I think? What if she... what if she was involved w--"

Ortiz returned with coffee.

Zion looked away.

"...nevermind, it doesn't matter."

\----- 

By the end of their meeting, Esme's hand had filled the rest of Zion's book with notes and equations. Zion still had many more technical questions, but Ron shushed her.

"It took a lot out of me to be up here this long, even with my stability and a powerful psychopomp to anchor me. I'm starting to slip, so stop talking and just listen."

Zion restrained herself and leaned in attentively. Ortiz stood by quietly as well. The forklift's horn remained silent.

"I have some old equipment that's probably still buried in storage back in Seattle. And even more extensive notes than the summary I just gave you... though far less organized. That should help with what you're trying to do. Explain to the band what's up and they should let you sift through my stuff to find it. While you're at it, give 'em hell if they aren't looking after my cats."

Ortiz and Zion silently nodded.

"As for my old teammates... fuck, tell 'em I don't blame anyone but the gods for killing me out of nowhere like they did. This ain't Valhalla but at least I'm accustomed to dwelling in the dark, unlike some of the poor bastards down here with me. Give my regards to that 'new kid' as well... Seattle couldn't ask for a finer player to take my spot in the rotation. I'd ask them to check in with the others down here sometime, but I don't think my host would appreciate the extra work..."

Esme smirked.

"Thank you," Ortiz said. "Both of you."

"Yeah... thanks." Zion added

The forklift beeped its horn.

"Heh. One last thing... let everyone know that Tianna Cash is grateful for all the peanuts."

The darkness vanished from Esme's eyes. She exhaled with relief as she relaxed.

"Alright, that was your one. Hope it was worth it to you."

"So do we," Ortiz replied.

"I think I can work with this..." Zion said as she reviewed the new pages of notes. "Thanks for indulging us. We'll see you on the field."

Esme nodded. "Good luck with your project."

They said their goodbyes and left the Shoebox.

"So... Seattle then?" Ortiz asked.

Zion huffed. "Yeah... We'll need every scrap of help we can get and I know _I've_ got question I want to ask Pitches' teammates."

"I agree."

The forklift beeped its horn.

\-----

It was a very long train ride from Charleston to Seattle and Zion was cooped up in her solitary sleeper car cabin running out of ways to distract herself. She had tried sleeping already but couldn't seem to stay out for even a full hour at a time. She had tried sketching new designs for Iron Lion, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the current situation. Then she had tried working on the calculations based on Ron Monstera's notes until her brain burnt out. She had briefly tried craving a decent cup of coffee at this late hour, but that got boring quickly. Finally she tried locking the door and fingering herself, but that brought her neither the tiredness to go back to sleep nor the enjoyment of a particularly satisfying conclusion. 

She was washing her hands in the restroom sink when the idea first occurred to her. At first she put the thought out of her mind, but when she was back in her bunk just lying sleepless once again she decided that it was better than staring at nothing until morning.

Zion powered up her computer, hooked up the old memory banks and set to work.

Zion had done everything that she was capable of to restore Pitches' corrupted memory short of a few restorations techniques that Pitches had _expressly_ not wanted performed on her mind. Methods for smoothing out rough edges or filling in small gaps with best guesses. That had been a bridge to far for Pitches; she had told Zion that she did not want anyone to ever have that kind of editorial control of her thoughts and memories. Zion hadn't argued with her and left the rough edges rough. After what Pitches had been through at the hands of the SHELLED ONE, Zion couldn't really blame her.

But Zion did have back-up copies of all that corrupted data. It was how she isolated the source code for the rootkit software the SHELLED ONE had used _specifically_ on the synthetic members of the PODs. As far as Zion could tell, it was just a machine readable form of the SHELLED ONE'S traditional methods of mind control: clunky and ugly with the graceless and brutal efficiency of a cudgel. Maybe the Seattle Garages had a point about All Gods being Bastards...

Zion had reverse engineered counter-measures to the rootkit and offered it to Pitches. The SHELLED ONE was dead and gone, but a security hole was a security hole and Zion had guessed it would give her friend more peace of mind to have something protecting her brain for the same avenue of intrusion.

Pitches had gratefully accepted it.

Pitches had trusted her.

Was Zion betraying that trust now?

She didn't want to pry too much... but on the other hand if this was lost data then it wasn't like these were even conscious memoires Pitches was carrying around anymore. If Pitches didn't even remember this stuff then was it really even still a part of her? Besides, Zion wasn't looking for some big secret, just an answer to a bland un-important question that still held her curiosity captive.

She only needed to check one window of a few hours on a single day from before Pitches even came into her life. Then she would be done with this and could stop obsessing over it. She could stop losing sleep over a dumb question.

She searched through the data for the timeframe that would have coincided with the Hlomecoming dance. She was in luck. Most of that data around that time was heavily corrupted, with just a few pockets here and there of recovered memory. Zion didn't touch those... those we're Pitches' and Pitches' alone.

Zion looked for some spot buried in the corruption that hadn't been recovered but might be able to be with some selective clean-up. Eventually she found one, near the beginning of the time frame. She set the process to work. Then she put the computer down and got up to stretch her legs.

After a few minutes, a chime told her that the restoration of the snapshot was as complete as it was going to get. She sat back down on the bed and checked the screen.

The image from Pitches' eyes was of a well appointed hallway decorated with balloons and streamers. A nearby welcome sign confirmed her suspicion that she was looking at the lobby of the Hlomecoming venue.

 _So she was at the dance..._ Zion thought.

Then she saw something that stole the breath from her throat.

Directly across the hallway was a full length mirror in which Zion could see a reflection.

Pitches was absolutely _radiant_ , her likeness captured midstride as she walked confidently through the hallway in white boots, a black top and a knee-length floral skirt.

That wasn't what left Zion's pulse racing though.

What had Zion's head spinning was the white-suited figure on Pitches' arm.

Zion numbly saved the snapshot and powered off the computer. She tried laying back down, but she couldn't.

Zion got up, threw a sleep-shirt on over her underwear and walked out into the hall.

She knocked softly on the door to Ortiz's cabin.

Zion honestly wasn't sure what she expected, but was nonetheless surprised when Ortiz answered the door in a pink negligee.

"...Yes Zion? Do you need something, sweetie?"

"...may I come in?"

Ortiz stood aside and admitted her into the cabin and gently shut the door again.

"May I ask what has you knocking on my door in the late hours of the night?"

"...I'm sorry."

"Hmmmm?"

"You were right Ortiz. I didn't want to hear it, but you were right."

"Oh... _oh honey..._ "

"Can... Can I stay with you for tonight? I don't want to be alone right now."

"...yes you may, Sweetie. Let's get back in bed then, okay?"

Zion spent the rest of the night in Ortiz's warm and soft embrace like a little doll. The whole time she lay there the same thing ran through her mind over and over until sleep finally claimed her.

She pictured the white suited imp on Pitches' arm and repeated the same thought to herself:

_I can't be Pitches' girlfriend... because another Zion already is._


	6. Chapter 6

Pitches walked the shifting streets of the Infinite City that had once been her home. The Los Angeli were such a liminal place now that she could see the city for what it truly was. It had a touch of the uncanny about it now, every almost-familiar sight carrying a question: was this the recollection of a half-forgotten memory or just another distorted reflection?

Questioning the reliability of memory wasn't anything new to her. For some time now, Pitches hadn't known what to make of many of her memories from before the PODs.

Zion had been different when she had gone to her to be repaired again. Still Zion, but... different. Like they had no history between them. At first Pitches thought it was the lingering effect of the mind control, some twisting of her thoughts to make her see Zion as a stranger. Then she thought that Zion herself was creating the distance, maintaining a professional gap between doctor and patient. That wasn't so unreasonable after all, given what Pitches had asked of her. But even after the mending was finished and her mind was her own again the distance remained. Zion seemed to truly have no recollection of their past relationship. Eventually, Pitches had begun to suspect that perhaps she really _had_ imagined the whole thing from fragments of corrupted memory.

When she had learned about the Alternate Reality Decree, everything finally clicked.

Pitches had been only vaguely aware of the nature of the Los Angeli when she first started playing on the Tacos. Back then if it didn't have to do with Blaseball then it wasn't important. She had known that the city was 'unlimited' given that her team was the 'Unlimited Tacos', but she hadn't put much more thought into it than that. 

But now she had read the history. She knew about the Grand Unslam, and later the arrival of the Alternates. It all finally fit together.

Zion hadn't remembered her because _there was more than one Zion Aliciakeyes._

The blaring horn of a truck brought her attention back to the present. The driver was shouting something at her in a language she didn't recognize and was making an obscene gesture with three of their hands. Pitches resumed crossing the street a little quicker than before.

She needed to focus. There were a theoretically unlimited number of Los Angeli connected to an equally unlimited number of realities. The multiverse was filled with myriad teams all named the Hades Tigers. She had to somehow find just one specific one. One specific Hades. One specific Tiger.

Pitches located a coffee house with network access. She got her usual. No money changed hands. Unlimited Los Angeli meant unlimited resources, and the Infinite City had been operating as a post scarcity socialized economy for many seasons now. Pitches sipped her Macchiato (QUALITY: FAIR) and hooked into the data network.

She sent out a series of queries. Hits came back. She saw the ones she was looking for and made another mark on her mental map of the dimensional topography. She finished her coffee and headed back out.

She kept moving until she got to the next stop. Pitches sent another round of queries.

She got hits. She cross-checked with her previous results. She made another mark.

She moved on to the next one.

It didn't take long before her stops began to blur together; Cafés, public library branches, TRBU metro stations, anywhere she could get a secure connection to the network.

Pitches had discovered upon her return to The Infinite City that where realities bled into each other, so did LA civic infrastructure: Roads and train tracks, obviously, but also powerlines, water mains, the sewers and so much else... like the planar data network.

Every LA with a network was hooked into its neighbors as well. Sending a query returned hits not only from the reality you were in, but also the reality down the street. Send a query, get hits from all realities within network range.

It was very inconvenient if you only wanted to get results for the local reality. But if you knew the right queries to ask and you were willing to do _a lot_ of walking, you could turn the network into a detection array for the source of specific hits. With enough points of data, you could determine the relative location of the reality containing exactly what you were looking for. 

Which was exactly what Pitches had been doing: Finding one specific reality. One specific Tiger.

It was a loop: Stop. Query. Hits. Compare. Record. Repeat.

At last she had it. Everything was converging to one point.

She hopped on a TRBU line heading directly for her new destination.

There were publicly accessible portals that could take her from LA straight to the heart of Hades, but they would be congested with traffic at TIME: ALWAYS. This had been true for every LA she had checked so far and she saw no reason why this one would be different. Fortunately, she found another route. A less traveled pathway used mainly by tourists heading to and from Elysium. She could take the long way if it meant saving time.

\-----

With a flash and a pungent whiff of brimstone she appeared in the circle at the far end. For a moment she just stood there and took in the wooded glade she had arrive in.

Pitches hadn't gone to Elysium much in the past, but it was nice here. It was very different from LA or Seattle or even the other parts of Hades, but in a good way. It was much more like what she remembered of the games at Yellowstone.

She had another long walk to reach her destination, and time to think about what she was going to say when she got there.

Pitches was so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost missed the thing coming up the path towards her until it was in plain sight.

It was the biggest umpire Pitches had ever seen. 

It was far from any stadium. 

It was looking at her as it sniffed the air.

She felt a chill of fear surge through her as the umpire began to stalk towards her. There was something off about the way it moved. Pitches was used to umpires acting cold and reserved, dispensing death upon players with an air of dispassionate judgement.

This umpire was not like that at all. She could feel the keenness of its focus on her. It was raw and primal, no longer concealing its predatory intentions. It even _moved_ more like a wild beast as it approached her, an expression of malice spilling from behind its mask.

Pitches cautiously drew a Blaseball from the satchel. Sudden movements might set it off. She would have to choose her moment carefully.

Just as she was about to draw back to throw, a red and black blur came sprinting out of the trees, sliding to a stop beside her.

The person was wearing a faded denim jacket over a blaseball uniform in the home game colors of the Hades Tigers. A set of antlers poked through holes cut into their cap.

Pitches had seen that face before.

The player drew up to her full height as she faced the umpire. Her short fur stood on end as the air around her hissed and popped. The blaseball Pitches held leapt from her hand and began to orbit the new arrival.

The player was now the eye of a storm. Arcs of electricity danced from the prongs of her antlers, leaping to the rotating sphere and enveloping it in crackling haloes of blinding light. With a flash the hovering blaseball flew screaming through the air, striking the giant umpire in the center of mass with a shower of sparks. The convulsing behemoth fell to the ground and lay twitching in a cloud of dust. 

She looked at Pitches, her eyes alive with the wild light of a raging tempest.

" **Run** ," she said, and took off like a shot across the Elysian fields.

Pitches ran after her, pushing her tired limbs to keep up with the pace set by the deer.

They put what must have been several miles between themselves and the umpire before the other pitcher finally came to a halt. She caught her breath in panting gasps that rocked her powerful frame.

Pitches approached cautiously, her legs still burning and protesting from their flight.

_QUERY: ARE YOU YAZMIN MASON?_

She broke out into a shy grin that looked almost out of place on her.

"Yeah... that's me."

_QUERY: ARE YOU AN ALTERNATE PLAYER?_

"Yes... why do you ask?"

_QUERY: WERE YOU OVERCOME AND EMPOWERED BY BLOODLUST FOLLOWING THE INCINERATION OF LANDRY VIOLENCE?_

She started.

"...how do you know about that?"

_ANSWER: I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU_


	7. Chapter 7

They arrived in Seattle to more fanfare then Zion had been expecting. Pitching Machine's current form was recognizable enough to cause a stir in the train station and so the three of them were followed by a small crowd of excited Seattle Garages fans pointing at the miniature armored tripod tank until they boarded their metro connection.

Their reception at the Big Garage was much lighter by comparison. Outside the retrofitted aircraft hanger the sole person waiting to greet them was Oliver Notarobot.

He gave them a wave as they approached.

_> ladies, welcome to Seattle_  
_> PM, it's good to see you as always_

Pitching Machine's servos revved.

Ortiz bowed her head politely. "A pleasure to speak in person, monsieur Notarobot. Thank you for not making a big production out of this visit."

Zion just nodded. "Hey. 'Sup Oll-E?"

_> the standard amount_

"Cool."

The android exchanged a nod with her and turned back to Ortiz.

_> i have done what i could to arrange some piece and quiet this morning in place of the typical chaos_  
_> many of the usual suspects are currently off assisting Durham Spaceman at the Ron Monstera Memorial Cat Café and Sanctuary_  
_> i estimate they all should probably return sometime in the early afternoon_  
_> possibly even later if they get distracted_

Ortiz smiled. "Oh, good. Ron asked us to pass on a few words to the team. I would hate to miss that chance."

_> so you really have spoken with Ron Monstera?_  
_> i admit i only knew him for a single season, but his death was a devastating blow to us all_  
_> he was one of the few pillars of constancy during a very turbulent time for Seattle_  
_> no matter what else changed or who came and went in the feedback, the team could always count on Ron to maintain the same degree of gruff about absolutely everything_  
_> while Durham Spaceman displays exceptional skill as a pitcher, that is no substitute for losing a friend_  


Zion tucked her arms and looked off to the side.

Ortiz gave a respectful pause before continuing. "We were told to give his regards to Durham specifically."

_> i am sure they will likely appreciate that_  
_> just don't take it personally if the response you get is... unexpected_  
_> in my experience Spaceman can be a rather odd bunch_  
_> they are varying degrees of unhelpfully cryptic to downright impenetrable depending on who is fronting at the time_

Ortiz nodded.

"Thank you. I will be sure to keep that in mind."

"Hey..." Zion started, "so... does your 'Big Garage' have a machine shop? I'd like to run some quick maintenance on today's Pitching Machine before we do anything else..."

\---

Zion left the tank PM in one of the many maintenance bays with the anti-rootkit install running.

"It should be good to go now. Just disconnect the cable when the install finishes. You got it from here?"

The co-op mechanic nodded. "Yeah... Thanks again for your help. Software isn't really my strong suit..."

"No problem. Always happy to give pointers to an aspiring robotics enthusiast."

He actually blushed a little. Zion couldn't help but feel she knew him from somewhere...

_Oh! Of course..._

"Anyone ever tell you that you kinda look like Mike Townsend?"

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I get that a lot..."

She laughed. "I imagine you would since you work in the stadium and all. I kind of had the opposite problem for my first few seasons on the Tigers. I always play in a mech, so whenever I was out of uniform I would keep getting mistaken for other stadium imps. I bet people get confused about who you are all the time!"

He smiled knowingly. "You have _no_ idea."

\---

Ortiz and Oll-E were waiting for her outside.

"Your mechanic says he's got it from here."

Oll-E nodded in the affirmative.

_> he does_  
_> Mike is still a novice, but he's been improving considerably_  
_> ever since he found time to pursue a big personal project he's been very motivated to learn_

"Wait. _Wait!_ His name is actually _Mike?_ "

_>...yes?_

"Oh, that poor guy... He must never catch a break from people mistaking him for the famous Garages pitcher, huh?"

_>..._  
_> you'd be surprised, actually_

"So, then... Ron Monstera's old stuff?"

_> would be in deep storage_  
_> we have quite a lot of that around here_  
_> i can take you to it_

"Well then," Ortiz said, "what are we waiting for?"

\---

Zion and Ortiz were unprepared for the sight of the storage. Most of the piles were too tall for Ortiz to see over.

"Oliver... this is..."

Ortiz search for a polite way to phrase what she was thinking.

"...organized chaos."

Zion snorted. "No, _I_ live in organized chaos. This? This is complete _anarchy!_ "

_> welcome to Seattle, home of the Seattle Garages anarchist collective_  
_> would you like assistance with your search?_

Ortiz looked a bit pale.

"Yes, I think we would appreciate that very much please."

\---

Zion had lost track of time. There was only the dark room, the rustling of loose papers and the endless boxes of Ron's notebooks.

_If she didn't have something new to think about soon she was going to flip out._

"Hey, Oll-E!"

_> yes?_

"Can you tell me what you know about Pitching Machine's instability? I heard a bit already from Ortiz about what's been going on before the last few days, but I'd like to go over the details with you if I can."

_> where would you like me to start?_

"Start at the beginning." She shrugged. "We're not going anywhere..."

_> very well_  
_> the dimensional instability has been occurring at least since PM first arrived in Seattle_  
_> during the regular season the interval between swaps was anywhere from 2 to 6 days with a measured mean of 3.78 days_  
_> every PM that appeared pitched at least one game_  
_> a few made repeat appearances_

"Sounds like the swapping is tried to the play schedule..."

_> there is certainly a strong correlation_  
_> recent events notwithstanding_

"So when did Pitches show up?"

_> she was the first alternate we noticed_  
_> since her first appearance she was a recurring member of the rotation, and is tied with our prime PM for number of appearances_  
_> she was also the last PM to pitch in the Coffee Cup Exhibition Tournament_  
_> all available evidence suggests that she has been continuously present in this reality from the elimination of Macchiato City until the events of the past few days_

"I guess that helps explain why I thought she was around all the time. Any idea why she's recurring?"

_> i am an athlete and a blaseball historian, not a metaphysicist_  
_> there is insufficient precedent for me to draw any meaningful conclusions_  
_> do you want my baseless speculation?_

"You know what? Sure. What's your wild guess, Oll-E?"

_> i suspect she might be "entangled" with this reality in some capacity_  
_> this stems from a related assumption that the prime PM keeps returning because this is its "home" reality_  
_> you performed extensive repairs on "Pitches" during her first visit_  
_> she had significant hardware replacement and received additional software i believe?_  
_> some percentage of her is from this reality now_

"That... honestly would fit with the stuff Ron was talking about. Using what I understand of his models, my working theory is that alternate PMs arrive here by swapping places with the current one. Which also means this isn't isolated to just _our_ reality either."

_> you mean that this same situation is in fact playing out in multiple realities?_  
_> that alternate PMs are not just swapping to here, but swapping everywhere?_

"Everywhere that has a PM to swap, probably."

_> and every one you've examined in detail has had the SHELLED ONE'S tampering?_

"Yeah... that does seem to be a constant. All of them have been PODs. I suppose that means that the gods are lazy and just use the same playbook for multiple realities. The rootkit code was the same, and I mean _exactly_ the same, so maybe the rest is too."

Zion laughed bitterly.

"Maybe that's all gods are at the end of the day... just an overpowered singularity of narcissism and bad design habits."

"You know..." Ortiz said, "from what Jaylen told me about living through both Day X games, that makes a lot of sense."

Zion and Oll-E both turned. They had gotten so deep into their conversation they completely forgot Ortiz was in the room.

"I was half joking, Ortiz. Why... what do you mean?" Zion asked.

"What you said about gods being a singularity. From the handful of times I heard Jaylen talk about it, I remember her saying how the players on the SHELLED ONE'S PODS appeared... 'overexposed' was the word she used. Like she was seeing different perspectives of them layered over themselves. Well, what if they _were?_ What if The SHELLED ONE's team was many different versions of the same players all existing at once? Could the instability be because of that?"

_> if that is the case, shouldn't we expect the same phenomena to be occurring with the other former PODs?_

Ortiz shrugged. "Maybe its affecting the Pitching Machines differently? What if The SHELLED ONE's influence did something more to them that didn't happen to the others?"

Zion stroked her chin. "It _did_ have to install a rootkit instead of whatever it did to the organics..."

_> a thought occurs to me_  
_> let us say the dimensional instability is a result of The SHELLED ONE's control_  
_> what if it is a feature and not a bug?_

The room got quiet.

Zion coughed. "That is a _deeply_ concerning idea on a lot of levels... Why would--"

She was interrupted by a distant crashing and the reverberating tone of a blaring brass instrument.

_> oh dear_

Zion looked at him. "What?"

_> it sounds like **that** PM is back again_

Ortiz was already heading for the door. "I'll handle it."

\-----

When Ortiz tracked the honking to its source she found a hallway containing a fight in progress. On one side was a crab-legged Pitching Machine not dissimilar to her own Pitch-ems... except of course for the trombone welded to its chassis in place of the launching mechanism. The fully actuated sliding valve appeared to have a knife bolted to the end, point-out. This Pitching Machine was honking loudly as it enthusiastically attempted to stab a catboy wielding a wooden bat like a sword. Its opponent appeared unperturbed by the assault and was actually _laughing_ as he parried the wild thrusts of the knife-wielding instrument.

Pitching Machine was so intent on its target it completely failed to notice Ortiz walk up behind it, bend down and lift it off the ground. It flailed its legs and made an even louder din in protest, trying to point its knife at the newest challenger.

It quickly found itself tangled up in Ortiz’s locks. The more it struggled, the more her serpentine hair coiled around it tighter and tighter.

“Are you going to _behave_ now?” She asked.

It did not give any indication that it would.

The short catboy shouldered the bat and looked up at her.

"You're Ortiz Lopez, right? San Francisco Lovers?"

"You got it in one. I take it you must be Malik Destiny? ...unless there's _another_ catboy on your team I don't know about?"

Malik broke into a grin. "The one and only! So what brings the Fire Eater of the Lovers all the way to Seattle?"

She hefted the irate Pitching Machine. "Oh, just helping a friend with a problem. You know, I think you might be the first person I've heard call me 'The Fire Eater of the Lovers'. I'm not exactly known for having done much Fire Eating on the field."

"Well, it's never too early to get some training in for the next season! I was getting ready to do exactly that when Pitching Machine decided to keep me on my toes."

"Don't worry, we won't keep you from your batting practice."

"Oh no, not that kind of training..."

Ortiz raised an eyebrow. "Fielding?"

The catboy grinned. "Tanking. Care to join me?"

\-----

The longer Zion spoke to Oll-E the more her fears and suspicions were all but confirmed.

_> that is correct, yes_  
_> at first she was extremely disorientated and did not appear to understand where she was or what was happening_  
_> after repeated reassurances that she was no longer on the PODS she specifically requested to be sent to you by name for maintenance ___

"And you didn't bother to mention that fact to me _why?_ "

_> she claimed to have met you while playing for the Tacos_  
_> at the time i believed you might already be acquainted_  
_> and if you were not then that seemed like her place to tell you_  
_> i take it then that she did no mention it?_

Zion shook her head. "No. Though she wasn't exactly in the most stable headspace when you dropped her off, so perhaps it slipped her mind to state the obvious."

She sighed.

"Why didn't you assume she meant an alternate of me?"

_> she believed that Zion Aliciakeyes was qualified to fix her_  
_> would it have made that much difference which Zion Aliciakeyes she got to do the job?_  
_> besides, i had not yet discounted the possibility that she was more acquainted with this reality than we realized_  
_> it was not until Ms. Lopez started asking questions several days ago that I understood these swaps only started sometime after PM was taken for the PODs_

"Hold on... didn't you once call the prime PM a major inspiration? Gave a big speech about it and everything? You were clearly paying attention back then, so wouldn't you have noticed if there was swapping going on?"

_how well can we truly claim to know people?_  
_at first i believed that i had simply failed to recognize an aspect of PM's nature, much as you yourself did until recently_  
_consider: how many seasons did i play for the Moist Talkers and the Crabs without the officials or the fans realizing i was secretly a synthetic?_

Zion raised an eyebrow. "Suuuuure they didn't."

_> i am afraid i do not follow_

"Oll-E, have you ever heard the phrase 'a polite fiction'?"

_> i don't think i like what you are insinuating_

"Just saying, you probably could have gone public whenever and everyone would have been cool with it."

_> i assure you it was not that simple_  
_> regardless of how many supportive friends and teammates i entrusted with my secret over the seasons, the regulatory bylaws banning machine players from competing were very explicit_  
_> bylaws that you yourself regularly ran afoul of, i might add_

"Hey after the first few times some pencil pushing suit got carried off the field on a stretcher for trying to tell me I couldn't play in a mech they stopped trying."

_> no, they stopped trying because a motion was filed and successfully argued before the rules committee that your Iron Lion suit should qualify as a host body and therefore be exempt under the same Puppeteer Equipment Provision that players such as Leech Herman, Rat Mason, and Collins Mellon are all covered by_

"Wait... really? Who did that?"

Oll-E leveled a look at her.

_> the Hades Tigers legal team with expert consultation on bylaw precedent from an accredited Blaseball historian_

"Oh..."

Zion suddenly felt very awkward.

Uh, thank you?"

_> you're welcome_  
_> i will have you know that i was hard at work for many seasons advocating for improved accessibility in competitive Blaseball_  
_> cases like yours helped to slowly drive the wedge in deeper_  
_> i finally went public because out of **nowhere** an openly synthetic player who was placed on a team by the rules committee itself hit the number one idol spot in its rookie season_  
_> once Pitching Machine had its breakout there was no walking that back_  
_> all that was left was to say "hello world" and watch the officials scramble to abolish the ban before the fan outrage could tank their careers_

"When you put it that way, it makes it all sound really calculated..."

_> Zion Aliciakeyes..._  
_> every day i publicly lied about being a human for the first 7.29 seasons of my IBL career so that i would be allowed to play_  
_> not to be an MVP_  
_> not to be a superstar_  
_> not to win a championship_  
_> to even be permitted on the field_  
_> i lied to the whole world about who i was every day in order to follow my passion_  
_> literally every move i made was calculated_

She looked down.

"...sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

_> it's fine_  
_> the day i could finally stop lying was one of the happiest days of my life_  
_> i owe Pitching Machine everything for that... and so does every other Oliver Notarobot in every other reality with a PM who made that possible_  
_> if this situation is making PM's personal life more difficult i want to help in any way i can_  
_> particularly if this turns out to be more serious than we realize_

"Do you even know what helping is going to entail? This isn't exactly a straightforward problem."

_> i may not have a plan, but i can tell you are starting to form one_  
_> whatever it is, i want to be a part of it_  
_> if you will have me of course_

Zion rolled her eyes.

"What kind of idiot do you take me for? Obviously I want your help!"

_> my presumptions have proven less than reliable as of late_  
_> so then... where do we go from here?_  
_> assuming you've worked that out already_

Zion exhaled. "I've got something almost like an idea..."

_> this is more that i have right now_  
_> would you care to share your thoughts?_

"Yeah... If we're going to try to mess with this dimensional instability then I think we want to relocate this show to Los Angeli. But not until after we get all _this_ mess sorted out..."

Zion gestured at the remaining boxes and other loose items.

_> we will find everything we need before you know it_  
_> it will just take some more sifting through junk looking for useful information_  
_> fortunately i have a degree which is good for doing exactly that_  


She sighed.

"Well, lets get that over with then..."

\-----

Ortiz looked over the smoldering wreckage of Malik's training course.

"I see you take being a Fire Eater very seriously." She said at last.

He wiped the soot from his face and smirked. "It's the most important thing I can do for my teammates. Of course I take it seriously!"

"Do you actually believe you'll be called on to do that again?"

"I dunno... But I need to be ready in case I am. Honestly, I kind of thought you'd feel the same... given the whole knights thing you all have going on?"

Ortiz laughed. "Perhaps you have me confused with my girlfriend Percy? She's more the knight in shining armor type."

"Malik frowned. "Oh... did I hear wrong then that you and your party used to fight monsters? Overthrew a monarchy? Killed a god?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not the one you should be asking about that. Its true, a few members of the polycule were deeply involved in that sort of business before we became a Blaseball team. It wasn't really my thing, honestly. Starting a personal grudge with gods used to be a great way to get champions sent after your head. Staying out of other people's fights is part of how I've lived so long. Keeping myself and my loved ones safe was always my highest priority. Vendettas just didn't appeal to me..." 

Ortiz clicked her tongue.

"But _then_ the SHELLED ONE went and snatched up my little Pitch-ems for its team of brainwashed idols. After that, it was _on sight_. That nut got exactly what was coming to it, even if I didn't get my chance to take a crack at it."

Malik chuckled. "I _definitely_ heard that. I _knew_ I wasn't wrong about you! So... how do you feel about the _new_ management?"

Ortiz smiled without humor.

"You mean the great gleaming coin? I’m waiting for her to turn and show us her other face."

He snorted. "Yeah... aren't we all?"

\-----

Zion sorted through the stack of loose papers she had assembled. Ron hadn't been lying about his notes being unorganized, and it was probably going to take hours more to sort through all of this. To say nothing of the converted sound equipment they had turned up. It wasn't immediately clear what gear was intended for use in dimensional manipulation and what was just a regular amplifier... to say nothing of the possible "monsteraphone" they had found and Oll-E had freaked out over. That one apparently needed special containment.

However, Zion was now officially _done_ with sitting in the dark trying to wrap her head around Ron's arcane scribblings. She opened a window to let some light into the dim room.

The faint sound of a violin floated in on the breeze.

The melody was sorrowful yet utterly entrancing. For a few minutes she just stood at the open window listening.

Then she remembered with a jolt who she knew in Seattle that played the violin now.

She stuck her head out the window. The sound seemed to be coming from above.

_Fuck it, she needed a break anyway._

With a flapping of wings, Zion followed the sound up to the roof of the enclosed stadium.

The music was originating from a small garden tucked away on one corner of the building. Zion saw a familiar figure drawing a bow across the strings of her instrument.

Zion softly alighted on a low bench and waited for the dryad to finish playing.

As the last notes of the song faded away on the wind, she spoke. "That was lovely Paula..."

Paula Turnip turned around to face her with a smile.

"Zion Aliciakeyes! I heard you might be in town. What drags you away from your workshop?"

Zion stuck out her tongue. "Maybe I just wanted to visit an old teammate? Ever think of that?"

"Zion, we could _barely_ tear you away from your work to do things arounds Hades! You really expect me to believe that you are up here in Seattle just for a social visit?"

Zion gave her a cross look. "I'm not _that_ much of a hermit, Paula... am I?"

"If there was a way for you to play Blaseball without leaving your house I'd bet good money on you trying it... But I am happy to see you all the same."

She felt herself smile a little. "I'm happy to see you too... I've been in a rough place lately and its nice to see a friendly face and catch up. That was a very moving piece you just played."

Paula got a distant look in her eye.

"I wrote that one for Moody Cookbook. You shouldn't expect to hear it on the radio any time soon." 

Zion nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I imagine that would be a bit personal to share..."

"...Would you like to hear another? I wrote something for everyone the Tigers lost..."

Zion felt herself choke up. "I mean... only if you want to. I'm enjoying talking with you right now."

She smiled sadly. "I _do_ want to. Here... this one is practiced enough I can play and talk."

Paula put the violin to her chin and began to play. Her bow danced over the strings at a furious tempo.

Zion closed her eyes and listened. The music filled her. Urged her to move. To breathe. To swing her fists and _break something_.

"This one is for Landry Violence... isn't it?"

"Very good. Do you like it?"

"Of course. It fits him perfectly."

The music drove on until it reached a crescendo. Then it grew softer and slower. It reminded Zion of the feeling of absence. Like touching the scar of an old wound. She looked at Paula and thought about the scar she carried on her back where the pattern of Landry's denim jacket had been seared into her when he had taken the Umpire's incineration onto himself to protect his final host.

Paula always claimed it didn't feel like anything... but Zion knew that not all scars needed physical pain to hurt.

She realized she was clutching her prosthetic arm.

She wanted something else to think about.

"We miss you a lot in Hades, Paula. I'm glad to see you doing well up here though."

"A change of scenery can sometimes be exactly what you don't know you need. I miss my Tigers family every day, but being transplanted to Seattle has been very good for helping me move on after a dark season of my life. Entering a new environment helps you to rediscover yourself." 

Zion shook her head. "I guess its good that you can see that sort of disruption as a positive?"

Paula shrugged. "Change is inevitable. We're better off if we can learn to adapt. Look at NaN... leaving home and wandering between teams in search of themselves has really helped them grow up in the last few seasons."

Zion laughed. "Paula, are you seriously suggesting that everyone should start bouncing around the league for the sake of _personal enlightenment?_ "

She smiled. "Well... perhaps not Jaylen Hotdogfingers. Playing for 7 teams across 3 seasons would be a bit much for anyone."

Zion smirked. "It certainly seems to have given her commitment issues."

"Pardon?"

Zion rolled her eyes. "She gets around is all I'm saying."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Zion chuckled. "Honestly? For someone who was once supposedly the most reviled player in the game, she seems to now have more sexual partners than she knows what to do with. The sordid love life of Blaseball's biggest slut is all anyone wants to talk about these days."

The music stopped.

"Do you ever think about flowers, Zion?"

Zion recalled the floral pattern of Pitches' Hlomecoming outfit with a twitch. She shook her head.

"Can't say that I've given it much thought Paula. They're pretty, I guess?"

"Perhaps you should. Consider for example, how flowering plants are the horniest exhibitionists imaginable."

Zion cocked her head. "...Excuse me?"

"Oh yes! Kinky little deviants the lot of them. How else do you explain why they commit so much of their existence to turning light, air, water and dirt into fleeting displays of passionate beauty? They don't hide this passion either... oh no. They spread themselves open and wide and they fuck beneath the sky for all the world to see! ...and Zion? The world _loves_ them for it. People _obsess_ over the intensity of a flower's passion. They give them as tokens of affection because they _yearn_ to experience that intensity... if only by proxy."

Zion's pulse thundered in her ears. Her face was so hot it felt like it might combust any moment.

"Do you judge them for their promiscuity, Zion? Or perhaps you envy them for how they can love so completely and fully without shame or reservation?"

Zion shuffled uncomfortably. She reached for a change of subject.

"I... I uh... _ahem_ , seem to recall there being bees involved in pollination? How exactly does _that_ all work with your metaphor?"

Paula just laughed and idlily played with the strand of ribbon tying back her leafy hair.

"Well, flowering plants just lead far more complicated love lives than some people are accustomed to. It's neither strange nor unnatural... it happens all the time."

"So what do horny flowers have to do with Jaylen Hotdogfingers?"

"Zion, why are you so hung up on this? What does Jaylen's love life have to do with _you?_ "

Zion huffed. "Maybe I'm just bothered by the way everyone fawns over her now."

Paula threw up her hands. "What are you even _talking_ about?"

"It doesn't sit right with me. It _never has_. So Jaylen dies a second time and the whole world mourns, but then she gets a _third_ chance, helps kill a god and now she's a _hero?_ We're supposed to forgot about everyone who died because of her? We're supposed to forget every _teammate_ we lost because of her? Scorpler? Frassier? **Moody?** ...Y--"

_She couldn't say it._

"Yazmin's Alternate?" Paula finished for her.

_Nobody actually called her that anymore. To everyone she was just "Yazmin"._

_But Zion still thought of her that way. To Zion the two Yazmins were as different as night and day._

_And Paula knew that too._

_Paula understood that her death meant they had lost **two** Yazmins, not one._

_When their friend burned, so did the faint, impossible hope that one day she might be able to return home... that **both** Yazmins might return home._

Zion was fighting back tears. "How can you _not_ hold that against her?"

"...because it wasn't her fault. I used to blame her too. But I've had enough time and distance to understand that she was saddled with a dark fate for a choice that wasn't even hers. To be raised from the dead as a symbolic act of defiance against the gods only to see herself twisted into a tool to punish us, and all of it without her having any say in the matter? She _did_ suffer, Zion. She didn't show it from afar, but up close she was a mess. She deserves whatever happiness she can get now."

"If only the rest of us were so lucky..." Zion muttered, turning away.

"Zion..."

She spread her wings and swooped off edge of the roof without looking back.

Paula was alone again. She took up her bow and launched into Yazmin's song. No one was there to see her cry.


	8. Chapter 8

"We should keep moving" was all Yazmin said, then they were off again over rolling hills and wooded thickets.

Pitches kept up, but didn't press her.

Yazmin brought them to a spring tucked away in a dense stand of trees. Once she was no longer winded, Yazmin stooped down onto all fours and drank from the pool. When she then removed her cap and splashed some water over her sweat-matted fur, Pitches took that to mean they were taking a longer rest this time.

_QUERY: IS NOW A BETTER TIME TO TALK?_

Yazmin stiffened a bit at the sound of her voice. She slowly untensed the muscles of her shoulders.

"...sure." She said at last. "How should we do this? Are we gonna take turns with our questions?"

_THAT IS AN AGREEABLE COMPROMISE_

"Guess that works. I'll start. What's your name?"

_ANSWER: MY OFFICIAL DESIGNATION IS PITCHING MACHINE._

Yazmin blinked at her.

_QUERY: WHY WAS THERE AN UMPIRE OUTSIDE OF A STADIUM?_

"That's where you'd expect to find them. Okay, my turn: Who the _hell_ named you _Pitching Machine?_ "

_ANSWER: MY OFFICIAL DESIGNATION CAME FROM THE IBL RULES COMMITTEE WHEN I WAS ASSIGNED TO THE UNLIMITED TACOS PITCHING ROTATION_

Yazmin shook her head.

_QUERY: ARE UMPIRES NOT USUALLY LOCATED ON THE FIELD WHERE BLASEBALL GAMES ARE OCCURRING?_

"Uh, not since the decree. So... since when does the rules committee assign new players to any team? I know the Tacos need all the help they can get, but c'mon now...

_ANSWER: AFTER THE ENTIRE PITCHING ROTATION OF THE UNLIMITED TACOS WAS RENDERED INCAPABLE OF PLAYING, SUBSTITUTE (ME) WAS PROVIDED BY THE LEAGUE SO THAT PLAY COULD CONTINUE UNINTERRUPTED_

_QUERY: WHICH DECREE?_

"It was... Uh... 'Exile the Umpires' or something like that. Everyone thought we were finally safe. No more rogue umpires incinerating players..."

Yaz wore a rueful smile.

"Now we've got _feral_ umpires wandering all over the plane. If they find you out here, you're fair game. The stadiums are the only place they can't go now."

Neither of them spoke.

"Oh... I guess it's my turn again. Ummm... Did feral umpires not happen where ever you came from?"

_ANSWER: THAT IS MY UNDERSTANDING_

_QUERY: DOES THIS REALITY LACK A PITCHING MACHINE?_

"I guess we do? I've never heard anything like what you're describing. Speaking of which, how does a team even have their _entire_ pitching rotation taken out of commission without replacement?

_ANSWER: THE SNACKRIFICE WAS A DELIBERATELY ORGANIZED ACT OF PROTEST_

_QUERY: WHAT OTHER SIGNIFICANT DISCREPANCIES HAVE YOU NOTED BETWEEN YOUR CURRENT REALITY AND YOUR REALITY OF ORIGIN?_

"The 'Snackrifice'... You know what, never mind. You asked about discrepancies? I guess the biggest one I saw when I got here was finding Landry still alive and well. That... That was a lot to process."

She got quieter then and wasn't really looking at anything in particular.

"I guess it's been a while since I thought about it, but watching Landry's death... changed me. Having all of that pain and helplessness bottled up inside turned me a powder keg. When that blessing came down from above I must have been a lightning rod because it hit me with everything and lit me up like a firestorm. Bloodlust defined me after that. Even off the field the fury never truly went away, just faded to the background. I suddenly had power and I needed to do something with it. To make things different. To make the pain actually _mean_ something."

She let out a long sigh. "Then I was here and Landry was fine and I didn't know how to even deal with that. How do you unmourn someone that you lost? Especially when you have other..."

Yaz turned away and was silent. When she finally spoke again she didn't meet Pitches' eyes.

"Since I got here, I couldn't tell you. It's not like I get news from back home or anything. Okay... You said you were looking for me. Specifically _me_ and not just any Yazmin. Why?"

_ANSWER: I DECIDED TO LOCATE YOU AFTER LEARNING OF YOUR EXISTENCE FROM ZION ALICIAKEYES_

Yazmin's head snapped around.

"What? When!?"

_ANSWER: SEVERAL DAYS AGO RELATIVE TO MY PERSONAL FRAME OF REFERENCE_

Yazmin covered her mouth.

"You mean she's still... is she really...?"

_QUERY: DO YOU NEED TIME TO PROCESS THIS INFORMATION?_

"Zion... _my_ Zion, I mean... She's... still alive?"

Pitches went silent and still.

"...Pitching Machine?"

_YAZMIN DEFINED MUTUAL SOCIAL CONNECTION AS ZION (YOURS). QUERY: DID YAZMIN USE THE POSSESSIVE ARTICLE TO INDICATE "COMMON ORIGIN" OR TO INDICATE "COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP STATUS"?_

" _What?!_ No, Zion and I... We don't... I didn't… We…” 

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“No... we weren’t girlfriends."

_UNDERSTOOD. UPDATING DEFINITION OF POSSESSIVE ARTICLE TO INCLUDE RECEPTION OF NON-COMMITTED ROMANTIC LONGING. QUERY: WAS THE LONGING EXPRESSED BY ZION TOWARD YAZMIN OF TYPE: REQUITED OR TYPE: UNREQUITED?_

Yazmin's eyes went wide.

"I… UH… UMMMM… UHHH...." 

_QUERY: IS THIS SUBJECT MAKING YAZMIN UNCOMFORTABLE?_

"Okaaaay... how about when we’re talking about Zion from now on let’s just say 'from the same reality as me'."

_UNDERSTOOD. UPDATING YAZMIN / ZION RELATIONSHIP STATUS TO FRIENDS (GOOD (VERY (VERY) ) )_

Yazmin was blushing so much that Pitches could see the flush of her skin even through her fur. She pulled her hat back on around the base of her antlers.

"We really should get moving again..."

_QUERY: WHERE ARE WE GOING?_

The light drained out of Yazmin's expression.

"I'm going to visit an old friend."

\-----

The spring fed a tiny stream. They followed it for a long time as it ran across miles of Elysium, growing into a creek, then a shallow river. Pitches guessed it would probably feed into one of the five major rivers of Hades. She wasn't sure which was which though.

Before that happened they arrived at a flowering meadow along the banks. Up ahead, a huge tree stood on a small hill above a bend in the river.

The Tigers pitcher stopped and took a deep breath at the sight of it.

_QUERY: WHAT IS THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THIS LOCATION?_

Yazmin spoke without turning her head.

"This is where Paula Turnip's ashes were returned to the soil."

They climbed the slope in silence. At the summit they stepped beneath the shade of the branches overhead. Yazmin leaned a shoulder against the trunk, letting it support her weight. She lay her head against the bark as if listening for a sound from within.

"In this reality," she said at last, "Landry wasn't able to save his host when the umpires came gunning for him. He lived and Paula burned. Folks took the event differently. I guess the death of a fan strikes a different chord than the death of a superstar. The team still mourned, but the loss wasn't _personal_... except for their Yazmin."

_QUERY: WHY?_

"Paula was one of our oldest childhood friends."

Yazmin took a seat on the roots of the tree. She looked out over the water.

"We were inseparable when we were younger. Then we drifted apart. We had our reasons at the time, but they seem so much smaller in retrospect. We didn't really reconnect until she was on the team after... after Landry's death. At least we had that one season to mend our friendship. The other Yaz didn't even get that... at least at first."

_QUERY: BECAUSE OF THE ALTERNATE REALITY DECREE?_

"Yeah. That's the one. I still wonder sometimes what she went through in my first reality, finding Paula alive but Landry dead. Sometimes I even wonder which of us got the worse deal from the trade."

Pitches took a seat on the ground nearby.

Yazmin finally turned to look at her again.

"Is Paula still okay? Do you know?"

_THE PAULA TURNIP OF YOUR ORIGINAL REALITY IS ALIVE. SHE IS CURRENTLY MY TEAMMATE ON THE SEATTLE GARAGES_

Yazmin sighed. "That's really good to hear. The Garages, though? Huh. Feedback, I take it?"

_ANSWER: YAZMIN IS CORRECT_

"What an odd turn of fate... Wait, does that mean she's in their band too? What does she even _play?_ "

_ANSWER: PAULA PLAYS THE VIOLIN. SHE DEFINES IT AS "A PERFECT TOOL FOR CONVERTING PAIN INTO BEAUTY"_

"You know... I can almost hear her saying those exact words."

_QUERY: WOULD YAZMIN LIKE ME TO GIVE PAULA A MESSAGE?_

"Oh... I... Yeah, sure.”

Yazmin was quiet for a moment. 

“Tell her I miss her. Tell her I'm grateful that we got a chance to reconnect first. Not everyone gets that."

_UNDERSTOOD. QUERY: WOULD YOU ALSO LIKE TO SEND A MESSAGE TO ZION ALICIAKEYES?_

Yazmin swallowed. "I... honestly don't know. What could I even say?"

_QUERY: DOES YAZMIN NOT MAINTAIN UNRESOLVED EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT TO ZION?_

"I… Look, we're worlds apart now. Does how we felt even matter anymore? It's not like I can go back. My team needs me. 'Play must continue'... We can't escape that. What is she even hoping to gain by sending you to look for me?"

_YAZMIN IS CONFUSED_

"...come again?"

_ADDENDUM: ZION DID NOT ASK ME TO FIND YOU. ZION DOES NOT KNOW THAT I AM LOOKING FOR YOU_

"She doesn't? So then why are you here?"

_ANSWER: ZION IS A GOOD FRIEND_

"Wait... finding me is a favor that she didn't even ask for?"

_ZION IS EXPERIENCING PAIN (EMOTIONAL) BECAUSE OF UNRESOLVED EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT TO YAZMIN MASON FROM REALITY (HERS). THE ABILITY OF ZION TO ASK FOR HELP IS BELOW AVERAGE FOR HER PEER GROUP_

"...And you came here all the way _from another reality_ without being asked... just for her?"

_ZION HELPED ME WHEN I WAS SUFFERING. ZION NEVER ASKED FOR ANYTHING SHE WANTED IN EXCHANGE. I AM HERE BECAUSE ZION IS A FRIEND._

" _Just_ a friend?"

_ADDENDUM: ZION IS A FRIEND (GOOD (VERY (VERY) ) )_

"...I see."

Yazmin's expression was almost unreadable.

"Well, how am I even supposed to respond to something like this? What do you even expect me to say?"

_ANSWER: WHATEVER YAZMIN WANTS TO SAY. YAZMIN IS THE ONLY PERSON IN CHARGE OF YAZMIN_

"...I need time to think about this. You're asking me to unbury someone I knew for certain I would never be able to see again. The Yazmin who felt those things has been locked away for a long time. That Yaz is a stranger to me now. I need time to get reacquainted with that piece of my heart before I'll know what I want to say."

_UNDERSTOOD. I WILL CEASE MENTIONING ZION UNTIL YOU WISH TO SPEAK ABOUT HER."_

"Thanks... Pitching Machine." 

_I AM ALSO REFERRED TO AS "PITCHES" AS A TERM OF ENDEARMENT_

"Now that is a _much_ better name if you ask me! Pitches it is then."

Yazmin got to her feet.

"We shouldn't stay here much longer. Let's get out of the open and go somewhere a bit safer than this."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit. (Cw: snakes as pseudo-tentacles)

That night found Zion once again wrapped in Ortiz soft embrace fighting back loneliness and longing for what she knew was beyond her reach.

Zion sighed and hugged the big gorgon's arms to herself. "Why am I doing this, Ortiz?"

"Hmmmm... Perhaps because you are hurting right now and my chest makes for a good pillow?"

She flustered. " _...I'm not talking about that!_ "

Ortiz sighed, her breasts pressed against the back of Zion's neck. "I can leave if you are uncomfortable."

Zion went still. "...please don't. This is... really nice."

Ortiz ran her fingers through Zion's hair.

"So what _are_ you talking about?"

"I mean going to LA. Am I just trying to help? I know this isn't going to end with me getting anything that I want out of this, but I don't see myself stopping."

Ortiz held her a little closer. "So what _do_ you want when all this is settled?"

Zion shook her head. "I don't even know what I want Ortiz, but I'm tired of making decisions. I'm tired of having to be responsible. I'm constantly having to deny my own desires in order to do the right thing and it's so **fucking** exhausting. I'm sick of choosing to hurt, so you know what? I'm not making decisions anymore."

"Oh? Tell me... what _exactly_ do you mean by that?"

"I mean I'm through with having opinions on what is going on. Having opinions and desires has only brought me pain and disappointment. From now on its all the same to me. Whatever happens, happens."

"Are you _quite sure_ you mean that, honey?"

"Do I _sound_ like I'm joking, Ortiz? Until further notice I **do not care** what happens to me. _At all_."

The next thing Zion knew she was gasping as Ortiz's hand was suddenly in her panties, long fingers seeking and finding her clit.

Ortiz was still speaking to her in the most relaxed and casual tone, as if fingering a flustered and panting imp wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her.

"Zion... sweetie... when was the last time you had sex with someone?"

She tried to answer, but every time she opened her mouth she just started pant-moaning again.

"Use your words, sweetie. I _know_ you know how."

"AHHHH IIIIIIIIAHHH... _I don't remember._ "

"Hmmmm. You know, Paula had some things to say about you and my teammate."

Zion gulped.

"She made it sound like you had some kind of problem with how Jaylen handles her personal life. Normally I'd make you mind your own business and leave it at that, but since you apparently don't _care_ what happens to you I'm going to make this lesson more interesting than that. I'm going to do whatever I please to you until you're begging me to let you cum. You know... like a little _slut_ would."

She almost whimpered. _Almost_. If Ortiz thought she was about to be taught a lesson about _anything_ then she wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Zion held her breath as Ortiz's other hand pulled her nightshirt up to her chin. Then the scaly locks of Ortiz's hair began to envelop her, slithering over her bare skin. Coiling around her limbs. Sliding their way beneath the fabric of her underwear...

With shocking speed she was wrapped in a cage of writhing snakes.

She bit her lip. In spite of herself, she was starting to get wet...

Some of the locks joined Ortiz's fingers inside of her, fighting each other to wriggle their way deeper into the space within her. Their smooth, scaly bodies were tying themselves in knots trying to fit into the opening.

Zion squirmed.

One of the snakes managed to push through. She could feel its flicking tongue tasting her insides. She shivered. 

A second one squeezed its way in beside the first, stretching her wider than she realized she could go. They began to twist around each other as they explored the space they now shared.

A soft moan escaped her throat. She couldn't hold back anymore.

"Oh... oh _gods... Ortiz, plea--_ "

Zion choked on her words as a bundle of serpents constricted around her throat.

"Oh no, honey. You haven't _earned_ the right to scream my name after everything you've been saying. In fact... you don't have the right to even acknowledge that I'm here. In what world would someone like me even _think_ about touching a condescending little prude like _you?_ You better pick another name to start yelling out, because if I hear you getting off to the thought of _me_ fucking you I'll be leaving some _very_ ugly marks to help remind you of your mistake."

Zion struggled to swallow as the serpents tightened their hold on her neck. Her thoughts raced as she tried to think.

She imagined Pitches, picturing her wearing that stunning Hlomecoming outfit. She imagined herself as the other Zion, the two of them taking off after the event and not even making it all the way to a hotel. Perhaps in the cockpit of her mech, both of them sharing the single seat. Pitches with her bootheels up on the console as she leans back in the chair. Zion siting in her lap facing her, still shrugging off a suit coat. The tightness at her throat became Pitches taking ahold of her tie and pulling her in for a rough, sloppy kiss until they were making out, their hands in each others' laps trying to find purchase...

She imagined Yazmin, turning to an old fantasy well-worn with use: Yazmin shyly inviting her to share a shower after a hard won game. The two of them needing to stand so close together to both fit under the flow of the showerhead. Then Zion clinging to her, legs wrapped around her body, hands gripping Yaz's firm muscle beneath her soft and wet fur. Water pouring over them both as they lock eyes. Zion feeling Yaz's heartbeat where their bodies press together. Rising and falling with Yaz's deep breaths. Zion's horns and Yaz's antlers knocking together as they start to kiss...

Then in a moment of perverse inspiration, she imagined _both_ of them. In her perverted fantasy the three of them were sharing a soft bed with Pitches and Yazmin sharing _her_ between them.

Zion wanted this vision to be real so badly that it hurt. She wanted to have her head pinned tightly between Yazmin's powerful thighs with her mouth pressed into Yaz's dripping wet sex, all while having Pitches knuckle-deep inside her trying to break her concentration. She could almost feel her face getting drenched when Yaz comes like a dam breaking and Zion thinks that they're done with her only they've just switched places and it's _Pitches_ she's eating out now while Yazmin's wet tongue is caressing her clit and AND AND _OH GODS **YES!**_

Ortiz released her to fall onto the bed. Zion's throat was raw. She curled into a ball as she shook violently, the sheets clinging to her soaking wet thighs.

Ortiz voice was softer, but not without an edge. "Did you learn your lesson yet, honey?"

Zion was still panting. Still struggling to get her thoughts together again. She couldn't even _remember_ the last time she came so hard. " _I... I..._ "

"It's a very simple question. Think hard. Do you know what you did wrong?"

She swallowed. " _...yes._ "

"And do you know what it is you want now?"

Zion tried to curl into an even tighter ball. " _...mhmm._ "

"Tell me. I need to hear you **say it.** "

Her voice almost broke into a sob. " _...I wanna be a slut, Ortiz._ I'm horny _all the time_ for people who I can't be with and I just want to get fucked by them _so damn badly._ "

"I know you do, sweetie... but you need to stop taking it out on others. From now on don't even _think_ about using that word for anyone but yourself. Understood?"

"I _know_... I'm awful and jealous and I just get resentful about how easy it is for some. Its not like people are all that interested in me."

Ortiz gently patted her on the head. "Honey... it was endearingly cute at first, but we _really_ need to talk about your obliviousness if its causing this much of a problem for you."

"My what?"

"Zion... sweetie... do you think I have the time or inclination to endlessly flirt with _every_ lovelorn stranger who becomes hopelessly entangled in my personal life? Or provide them multiple emotional support cuddle sessions? Or give them a private lesson about respecting the sexual activeness of others... complete with screaming orgasm?"

Zion was turning red again. "Flirt... _Flirting?!_ "

"Oh _sweetie..._ Did you really not notice? Honest and truly? The whole reason I'm having fun playing with you is because you caught my attention. I guarantee I can't be the only one who would appreciate a _private service appointment_ with the resident mechanic of the Hades Tigers."

"That's what I don't get! Ortiz, you're a fucking gorgeous pansexual _goddess!_ I'm a scrawny little nerd who's much better with machines than people."

"Really? Because when I look at you I see a quick-witted little genius who is good with her hands and isn't afraid to get them dirty. You rock an aesthetic that some people _lose their minds_ over and make it look effortless, because for you it _is_ effortless. Give yourself _some_ credit, honey... you could have as many partners as your little heart desires if you started applying yourself."

She buried her face. "Ortiz, you can't just _say things_ like that!"

"Can't I? Who's going to stop me? Certainly not a flustered little slut like you."

Zion let out a muffled whine.

"Hmm? Do you disagree? You don't have much room to argue. After all, a lady you've only really known for a _few days_ just made you soak your bedsheets and the whole time you were screaming the name of someone who isn't even here. It's almost hurtful you know..."

"WHAT!? _Whose_ name?!"

Ortiz smiled mischievously. "You mean you don't even _remember?_ Why Zion... are there _too many_ for you to keep track?"

Zion's face was burning. " _Whose name, Ortiz?_ "

"Come now, Zion. You're a smart lady... I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Zion kept asking until she fell asleep, but Ortiz would only wink coyly at her. She wanted to see how long it would take Zion to figure out it was more than just one.


End file.
